Drive
by Carina2602
Summary: Wesley Kim hates Kurt Hummel. Kurt needs a romantic distraction to keep him away from Blaine-and he'll pay someone to be that distraction. Rated R. See Warnings before proceeding.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Someone filled a prompt for me over at the Angst Meme, and I am now filling their prompt. Please heed the warnings. This is definitely R rated and deals with sensitive issues. I cleaned it up a little and the version on my Livejournal account borderlines NC-17. This version is definitely R.

This is slash. Characters include: Wes, Blaine, Kurt, Puck, and other canon characters.

Warnings: Language, Violence, Abuse, Drug Use, Sex (nothing extremely graphic). Dubcon/Noncon. Possible Triggers

* * *

**Part One**

Hate was a strong word and one Wesley Kim seldom used. There was a paper thin civility at Dalton Academy, one that required polite exchanges and a carefully construed façade of friendship. Everyone used everyone else and good friends were hard to find. The academic standards were high and extra-curricular activities were considered a privilege. Wes had more privileges than most as valedictorian and head of the Warblers.

In a sense, he had everything he ever wanted: money, power, popularity, excellent grades, a beautiful girlfriend, and a convenient lay. Wes absolutely hated it when one of those things went awry, because it threw a cog into the metaphorical wheel and then everything else turned to shit. It was safe to say that Wes hated Kurt Hummel. The slender, blue-eyed boy had not just thrown a cog into his wheel; he'd thrown a log.

An all-boys boarding school meant no girls, and even though Wes had a girlfriend, she was pretty much unavailable since she lived in Chicago. Every eighteen year old boy had needs. Wes was no exception. Sex relieved the constant pressure he faced from both school and his family. For the last year, Wes had slept with Blaine whenever he needed a release. In return, Blaine got solos and popularity, and the Warblers sang the songs he suggested. The arrangement benefitted both boys.

Suddenly, Blaine wasn't so willing to put out anymore. Wes knew why: Kurt Hummel. The kid already had Blaine wrapped around his little finger, and Wes didn't like it at all. Before, Wes would just look at Blaine and they'd be in his room during lunch. Blaine ate lunch with Kurt and Nick now, eager for Kurt's attention and sweet, innocent smile.

It was disgusting. Wes knew he needed to remedy this situation, and fast. Blaine had avoided him long enough. Wes lounged outside the younger teen's room, well aware he always came up to switch out books and folders before afternoon classes began. Like clockwork, Blaine hurried up the steps, a dopy smile plastered on his face. Wes roughly shoved him into the door and nipped at his ear.

"Wes," Blaine gasped, "I-I don't have time for this. I have to get to class."

"It's gym," Wes replied coldly, "Don't worry, I'll tell them you were helping me with my science project. No one will raise a fuss about it."

Wes gripped Blaine's arm and pulled him towards his room. No one would interrupt them there. Wes had a single room at the end of the hall. Blaine stopped once they arrived and nervously shuffled his feet. Wes opened the door and pushed him inside. The smaller teen tensed as he shut the door.

"What are you waiting for?"

It sounded colder than he meant it to be, but Wes didn't particularly care. Blaine obediently dropped to his knees. Wes smiled and ran his hands through the other boy's thick hair as he unzipped his pants.

Wes screwed Blaine hard and rough. Bruises and bite marks marred the shorter boy's pearly white skin. It was a cold reminder, but he needed to make sure Blaine didn't forget his place. There was no room for independence or fortitude in this relationship. Wes called the shots in their friendship and in bed. Blaine had a slight limp after their lunch time shenanigans and winced every time he sat down. No one seemed to notice, because the dark eyed boy was an excellent actor, and put on a show for everyone at Dalton. The broken, scared soloist hid behind a charming and polished mask.

Kurt Hummel held his head up high and stood his ground until he was the last one standing. Wes hated his attitude and biting sarcasm. Blaine used to reserve longing, soulful looks for him and now he stared at Kurt like he was the solution to all of his problems. Wes hated the countertenor's beautiful, soaring voice because he couldn't sing like that on the best day of his life and he knows Blaine can't either. The Warblers wanted to give Kurt a solo for Regionals even though he had yet to audition for one, and Wes had auditioned five times before anyone looked at him twice.

David absolutely adored Kurt and let the skinny boy give him a complete makeover for senior portraits. Suddenly every upperclassman at Dalton wanted fashion tips and somehow, Kurt became their resident Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. Wes hated him a little more. For every clever tip and thoughtful song suggestion, Wes shot Kurt down with a cutting remark and a subtle criticism. Blaine didn't take criticism well—none of the Warblers did-but Kurt didn't seem to care _at all_. Wes hated his unconquerable spirit and determination. Blaine's courage was little more than false bravado and Kurt's bravery was genuine. Wes constantly nagged at him anyways out of spite if nothing else and made Blaine _squirm, cry, and beg _every afternoon for an entire week.

Kurt Hummel was a problem. Blaine grew closer to the younger boy each day despite the bruises covering his skin or the small, thoughtful gifts Wes gave him every day. The presents were simple and easily obtained in town: sheet music, a new chain for the pocket watch, guitar strings, cupcakes, and a pretty pink Orchid. Wes loved the awed and confused look on Blaine's face after he accepted the gifts. They had never exchanged anything except platitudes and sexual innuendos in private. Blaine smiled and got on his knees, finally eager again for a quick lay.

The Orchid signified a new beginning in their relationship. For the first time since they started having sex, Wes made love to Blaine at night instead of in the middle of the day. It was different and somehow, much more intimate than anything they had done before. They shared sweet, tender kisses. Wes touched Blaine in all the right places, but he came with Kurt's name on his lips. It stung more than it should have, because he was trying, and it still wasn't enough. Wes had taken Blaine's virginity. The other boy moaned underneath him and he knew stealing Kurt's innocence would solve the problem. Blaine belonged to Wes-and he always would.

* * *

Wes hacked the new kid's Hotmail account without a second thought and promptly decided he didn't have the energy to seduce Kurt Hummel. If the detailed emails the boy exchanged with Mercedes were anything to go by; the soprano sought heartfelt romance and a meaningful relationship. Flowers, dates, kissing, shopping trips, duets, and an eventual dance on prom night were laughable at best and completely ridiculous at worst. Wes leaned towards the latter rather than the former and grimaced as he read each email.

All Blaine required for happiness were some cheap gifts and tender gestures. Kurt mostly emailed girls: Rachel, Quinn, Tina, Santana, Brittany, Mercedes, and Carole. Occasionally someone named Finn sent misspelled questions. The nature of the messages lead Wes to believe Finn was a male. _Dude, where are all your wigs? We're doing eighties' hair bands this week! I'm going as Bret Michaels-do you have any zebra headbands? _He shook his head in disbelief at the nearly incoherent email and soon realized Finn was Kurt's brother.

Kurt Hummel needed a romantic distraction. Wes would pay someone to keep the younger boy occupied and away from Blaine. Fortunately, he knew a perfect candidate for the job: Noah Puckerman. The big teen had made his rounds around Westerville over the summer cleaning pools and frequently sold pot to the upper class kids that owned those pools. Puck slept with any available girls and if the rumors were true, a few boys when they offered him enough money.

Puck was an easy choice for a several reasons: he already knew Kurt, had an easy charm, a great body, and came from a broken home. Wes abandoned Kurt's emails and found as much information as he could on the Puckerman family. Puck had tried to steal an ATM and got sent to jail for a few weeks. After some careful digging, Wes discovered Nina Puckerman was a recovering alcoholic, a recently laid off pharmacist, and close to losing her home. _Perfect_.

Lima was a two hour drive from Westerville. On the following Saturday Wes ventured down to the small blue collar town. Sheets N' Things sat amongst big box stores and several generic restaurants. The store was filled with holiday shoppers and kids stealthily unfolding neat stacks of sheets. He rolled his eyes at the scene and searched for Noah Puckerman. A balding man wearing a hideous pink sweater and thin glasses undressed Puck with his eyes as he harassed him about thread counts.

"Excuse me, Mr. Puckerman," Wes politely interjected, "You helped me put together a splendid selection of sheets and light comforters for the guest house this summer. I was hoping you could help me out again."

"Yeah, sure," Puck frowned, "Mr. Ryerson-I'm sure Howard can help you—he's right over there by the art selections."

"I'll wait," the older man glared, "You are much more lovely than Mr. Bamboo."

Wes ignored the hateful from Mr. Ryerson and led Puck towards the azure colored sheets around the corner.

"Aren't you one of the Garglers from Dalton?" Puck asked as he shoved some sheets at him.

"Wesley Kim," He confirmed with a thin smile, "And yes, I'm one of the Warblers. I have a business proposition for you, Puck."

"I'm not selling you our set list for Regionals," Puck scowled, "Whenever we have it. I'm not selling any New Direction secrets, either."

"I don't want your set list," Wes sighed, "I want you to date Kurt Hummel-and I'll pay you to do it."

"Dude," Puck choked out, "I'm not gay."

"Really," Wes leaned closer and whispered into his ear, "That's not always true, is it-I heard all about your adventures in Scott Lee's boathouse this summer."

"H-he told you about that?" Puck blanched and his hands shook as he balled up the sheets in palpable horror.

"Western Ohio has a very tight-knit Korean community," Wes gloated, "Who do you think helped him make the tape?"

He didn't mention that Scott had never actually made a tape, but Puck needed to believe the lie.

Puck stumbled into the shelves and dropped the stack of sheets onto the floor.

"Don't worry," Wes smirked, "I'm not going to blackmail you with your secret porn. I just wanted to skip over the necessary denial and get to the chase."

The bigger teen stared at him distrustfully, but he kept silent. Puck was smarter than he looked. Wes couldn't have picked a better suitor for Kurt Hummel.

"About that business proposal," Wes began sincerely, "I heard your mother was having a hard time financially—I also heard she was a pharmacist. It just so happens I have an Uncle that works at St. Rita's. He's chief of medicine. Turns out they were looking for a pharmacist-and I knew just the applicant."

"How did you know that my mother was looking for work?" Puck demanded, narrowing his eyes.

"I have my ways," Wes said with a dismissive wave, "And it's a good thing I do, because your mother is now employed at St. Rita's-making twice the salary she did at her old job."

Puck's eyebrows shot up at the news. "No way," he said with disbelief, "My mom would have told me if she got an interview."

"It's true," Wes smiled, "She'll tell you tonight—I'm sure she just didn't want to get your hopes up that she found a job until she actually had it."

"So you're blackmailing me with this instead of a—"Puck's voice lowered, "porn tape?"

"I helped someone out," Wes said dryly, "And I'm not blackmailing you. Dalton has a strict honor code. If you reported my actions, I could get expelled. This is not my goal here. Like I said-I'm going to pay you to date Kurt Hummel. I merely thought helping your mother get a job would make you a little more willing."

The other boy was silent for a few minutes while he refolded the sheets. Wes grinned. The plan had worked. It was fortunate that his uncle's hospital needed a pharmacist, because it made manipulating Noah Puckerman so much easier-he was such a Mamma's boy.

"I don't want to hurt Kurt," Puck whispered, "He's my boy."

"I don't want you to hurt him either," Wes lied, "I just want you to date him. You don't have to do anything sexual. All you need to do is distract him for a while. That's it."

"Why are you doing this?" Puck sounded defeated. _Excellent._

"Kurt's interested in someone at Dalton," Wes shrugged, "And the guy he's into is way out of his league—not to mention, a slut-he's got a thing for virgins. I'm very concerned."

"So you're trying to protect his virtue?" Puck asked, unconvinced. "Why don't you just tell Hummel about this guy's motives and be done with it? He's a smart kid—he wouldn't hook up with anyone like that."

"It's complicated," Wes answered carefully, "The social structure at Dalton is tricky-this guy is at the top of it. If I bad mouth him-then everyone would face the consequences."

"God forbid somebody ruffles your prissy feathers." Puck snapped grimly. "Fine, I'll do it."

"Fantastic," Wes beamed, "How does a thousand dollars a week sound?"


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for the reviews. This part gets quite intense, so please remember the warnings in part one.

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**Part Two**

Dalton Academy emptied out and quieted down on weekends. Students from Columbus, Akron, Cincinnati, and Cleveland went home to see their families and often dragged other boarders along so they could spend time away from the close confines of boarding school. They complained about the food, homework, lack of girls, and how much they missed their families and friends back home.

Wes usually endured the hundred mile trip to Toledo on the weekends. Sometimes David, Nick, and Jeff came with him. Occasionally he stayed in Westerville and caught up on homework or went to Columbus to visit his Aunts. He had politely excused himself from any family activity this weekend and opted to stay on campus. It was close to eight by the time he made it back to Dalton. Curfew was strictly enforced, even for seniors. A handful of students laughed and hollered as they played Halo in the upstairs lounge.

"Hey Wes!" Troy smiled as he shot at Ryan's character. "Want in on the game?"

"Not tonight." Wes returned the smile. "I'm a little tired—I need to hit the books for that killer advanced physics final. Why aren't you guys studying for it?"

"We were," Nick rolled his eyes, "But unlike you—all we care about is graduating with a 3.5 GPA or above. We'll still get into any colleges we apply for."

"Speak for yourself, Nick," Desmond stared coldly at Wes, "I can't wait to get out of this place."

"I heard about your ambitious plans for a poorly planned tour with your band," Wes sneered, "A band that has what, two fans and operates out of a studio basement."

"I get that you're the Warbler's brain child," Desmond scoffed, "And that you wouldn't know aboriginality if it hit you in your gigantic head, _Tracy Flick._"

Wes balled his hands into furious, tight fists. _Tracy Flick. _He hated being compared that fictitious overachiever. Desmond was the only student that would say it to his face, even though Wes knew others whispered it behind his back. The four way student presidential race had gotten extremely ugly last year and resulted in one student getting expelled for rigging the election. It didn't matter that _Wes _had rigged the race and framed the chubby sophomore for it. He would have simply lost the race fair and square, but his father had pressed him to win it. _It will look good on your resume. Just think of what the admissions board at Harvard will think when they see that highlight. You aren't trying hard enough, Wesley! You need to win that race! _They didn't understand the kind of pressure he faced—or how guilty he still felt about cheating. Everyone except Desmond believed that sophomore was guilty: the evidence spoke for itself.

"Guys, we're supposed to be past this." Troy was clearly uncomfortable with the thick tension in the room. "We're seniors now. It's our last year together. Come on…all that stuff is in the past. It doesn't matter anymore."

"Tell that to Sam Evans," Desmond glowered, "As usual, Flick here has been a real killjoy. I'm out of here."

Desmond chucked his remote at Troy and angrily stalked out of the room. Wes stared after him and unclenched his fists. The tall, lean red head had a way of getting under his skin.

"I don't know why you two always have to bring up that whole messy affair," Nick sighed, "The student body looked at the evidence. It's been settled. We know you didn't do anything wrong, Wes."

Suddenly, the room felt smaller. He had done something wrong, and he certainly didn't deserve their sympathy. Tears pricked at his eyes, but he couldn't let them fall here. _Be a man, Wesley. _

"Yeah," he croaked, "I think I'm going to call it a night."

Wes abruptly spun on his heels and fled from the senior lounge. A soft, soulful voice drifted into the hallway from a familiar room. He stopped his frantic flight and listened as Blaine sang in his room. _Angel you sing about beautiful things, and all I want to do is believe. _It wasn't a song he recognized, but the other boy's voice calmed his nerves.

"You sounded great." Wes smiled as he entered the room without an invitation. "What song were you singing?"

"Wes," Blaine said, surprised, "I thought you went back to Toledo for the weekend."

"No," He answered and brushed his fingers against Blaine's cheek. "I stayed."

Blaine anxiously clutched the gray and white scarf wrapped around his neck. It was expensive and well designed. Wes had never seen the shorter boy in anything except plain, collared shirts, khakis, or jeans. Blaine's wardrobe wavered between boring, ugly, and tacky. It was a result of too many boarding schools, an indifferent father, and a mentally ill mother. Donning uniforms for years on end tended to mess with someone's ability to dress properly. Wes used to have the same problem until he started dating Julie and let the fashionista talk him into a new look.

"Nice scarf." Wes stepped closer to Blaine and stroked his chest. "Did you go to the mall today?"

Blaine started tugging the scarf off, but Wes stopped him when he saw the neatly printed initials on a small tag: _KH. He's wearing Kurt's scarf._ His hands quaked as he yanked the fine wrap from Blaine's neck. The initials mocked Wes and all he could feel was a burning, jealous rage.

"You're wearing too many clothes," Wes hissed as he pushed Blaine onto the bed, "Take off your shirt."

The teen trembled and bit his lip, but he slowly removed the faded band t-shirt. Wes gently kissed him and brushed a thumb over his nipple. Blaine arched into the touch and started kissing back. He relaxed as Wes pressed him down on the mattress and playfully nipped at his collarbone. Wes pinned Blaine's wrists to the pillow and reached for the scarf near the end of the bed. The scarf held firm as he tied it around the head board and wrapped the remaining material tightly around Blaine's wrists.

"W-what are you doing?" Blaine stared at him with wide, startled eyes and pulled against his bonds. "Untie me, Wes."

"Don't worry," Wes smiled, "You'll enjoy this."

Blaine cried out as he dug his fingers into a fading bruise on his hip. Wes kissed the other boy forcefully to shut him up and unbuckled his belt.

"Untie me," Blaine demanded, "Now. I don't like this."

"Be quiet," Wes glared, "You'll like it soon enough."

"Wes, please." Blaine struggled beneath Wes' hands and started kicking his legs.

A foot connected with his ribs. Wes swore and instinctively swung his fist. Blaine whimpered as knuckles struck his kidneys. He really didn't mean to hit the other boy so hard, but Blaine finally stopped fighting. Wes leaned down and kissed his bruised stomach.

"I'm sorry," He mumbled, "I'll make you feel really good, I promise."

* * *

The sun was well over the horizon by the time Wes returned from Fitzy's Diner with breakfast for two. Each box contained different items: eggs, wheat toast, spiced potatoes, and two biscuits. He juggled one coffee (black, no sugar) and one chai tea (authentic, with soy milk) on top of the take out containers. The food was still hot despite the drive across town and a trip up three flights of stairs. Wes didn't bother knocking once he reached Blaine's room.

Jack was in Cleveland for his sister's wedding and wouldn't be back until Tuesday morning. Wes liked Blaine's roommate well enough, but he was failing most of his classes and sold drugs to the students at Dalton. The drugs of choice among the student body were speed, cocaine, ecstasy, and high quality marijuana. Wes' favorites were speed for long, all night cram sessions and ecstasy when he needed to feel good and Blaine was unavailable.

Blaine lay curled on his side and faced the wall. Wes set the boxes down on his desk and put the cups on the nightstand.

"Good morning," He greeted, "I brought you breakfast."

"I'm not hungry," Blaine croaked, "I'm trying to sleep."

Wes frowned, annoyed that he didn't want breakfast. They had already missed the morning meal down in the cafeteria and chapel started in an hour. He had driven clear across Westerville and waited in line with early morning church goers, and Blaine didn't appreciate the effort.

"Hey," Wes started as he stroked Blaine's shoulder, "What's the matter? You love Fitzy's."

Blaine jerked free from his touch and yanked the blanket up to his shoulders.

"You _hurt _me, Wes," Blaine sniffed into his pillow, "You—_hit _me, and then you—you."

His words trailed off into quiet sobs. Wes blinked at him in surprise.

"You certainly didn't complain last night," He snarled, "You've _never _had a problem with anything we've done in the past, and I distinctly remember you enjoying _everything _I did to you last night."

"I don't want you to be here," Blaine said softly, "Please-just leave me alone."

This wasn't supposed to happen. Wes couldn't lose him. They had never had any problems before Kurt Hummel came along. Wes _needed _Blaine: nothing else belonged to him. Lee Kim ruled over his life like a heartless dictator and everything from his extracurricular activities to his girlfriend were predetermined. He hated Dalton and its stifling environment. The Warblers and playing the violin were unwanted substitutes for singing in a band and learning to play the guitar like Desmond. Wes would become a lawyer and work in his father's law firm even though he wanted to be a ballet dancer.

"I'm not leaving."

"There's a no harassment policy here," Blaine turned over and his dark eyes finally focused on him, "It's strictly enforced…don't you remember what happened to Sam?"

Wes flinched at the words. Anger swelled in his belly. He covered Blaine's mouth with one hand and gripped his untamed curls with the other.

"I remember," He whispered, "But there was a reason he harassed me last year-I was the one that planted the drugs in his room. You don't think I couldn't do the same to you?"

Blaine's eyes widened even further at the revelation, because he had never confessed to anyone except Scott Lee what he had done to ensure his victory. Planting the drugs had been Scott's idea and he had also suggested sabotaging Sam's chances by messing with his homework and criticizing his weight. It worked like a charm and he'd thanked Scott for his creativity.

"What do you think it would take, Blaine," he began and tugged on a curl, "To send you back to Bollman?"

Blaine made a muffled protest. Wes swung his legs over the smaller teen's hips and straddled his waist.

"I think planting drugs in here would be a bit redundant," he joked, "There's so many other things I could do to get you expelled. I could mention the flask in your book bag, or how worried I am about your mental health-and just think: if I did that, they'd send you to a counselor and then before you know it, you'll be sharing a padded room with your mother."

Wes smiled thinly as Blaine's breaths quickened against his hand. Relief flooded through his veins. Blaine would start cooperating again, Puckerman would woo Kurt back to McKinley, and life would go on as normal. Something in Blaine's hands sparkled under the bright incandescent light. Wes released the teen's curls and slowly uncoiled his fingers, surprised when he saw a colorful bug brooch.

"Can I have this?"

Wes ignored Blaine's dismayed look and nonchalantly pocketed the brooch. The metal was warm as he ran his fingers along the brooch's ridges. He released Blaine's hair and promptly climbed off him, knowing their power struggle was over for now.

"Chapel starts soon," He informed Blaine, "Why don't you show me how much you appreciate breakfast in bed?"

Blaine started at the suggestive tone, but he slid out of the twin bed and obligingly got on his knees. It was funny: Wes had never realized how beautiful Blaine was when he cried.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you for all the reviews. I consider all those alerts/favorites reviews:).

* * *

**Part Three **

Dalton wasn't a large school and upper level classes often included students from every grade level. Meals were served in the cafeteria at specific times. The library was crowded since finals week had arrived and everyone buckled down to cram for merciless exams. The Warblers practiced less and officially disbanded for winter break last week. It was quite difficult to actively ditch a fellow student without raising suspicions.

Avoiding Wes turned out to be remarkably easy as long as Blaine ditched dinner, stayed out of the library, and skipped gym with a skillfully forged doctor's note. The senior was bogged down with finals like everyone else and only managed to hunt him down yesterday evening. Blaine made a successful dash for an impromptu study session with David and Kurt while Wes coldly declined an invitation to join them, much to his relief.

Winter break started in two more days. Wes would go back to Toledo, where he could unwind and spend time with Julie. Blaine hoped that his friend would return when he got back, the one that didn't hit him or pressure him for sex. He wanted the friend that helped him with math, laughed at his jokes, and listened to his problems. Wes had _never _been mean or violent before.

Blaine didn't understand what had suddenly changed-he thought the older boy was finally coming around and admitting his true feelings when the unexpected gifts started to appear. It was nice at first. Wes was the first boy that had showed any interest _at all _towards him. While Blaine knew he would never come out of the closet, he had always been genuine and sweet when they were alone together.

At first, their clandestine relationship was exciting and new: they made out in closets between classes and carefully explored each other's bodies. Eventually, Blaine grew tired of hiding once he realized they could never go on a date, dance, or hold hands in public. Spending one weekend in Cleveland together over the summer had been nice. Wes had ensured their first time was special, but he wanted more than one secret rendezvous in a strange city.

Blaine glanced at his pocket watch as he hurried down the hall. Dinner was over and students spilled into the corridor. He wouldn't _dare _to go back to his room. Wes would certainly come looking before curfew and lights out. The senior was already heading towards the staircase. Blaine's heartbeat raced as he dashed for Kurt's room.

The younger boy answered after the first knock. Blaine smiled half-heartedly and quickly shut the door. Several shoe boxes and a thick photograph album sat on the floor.

"I didn't see you at dinner," Kurt greeted warmly; "I saved you a seat."

"I ate too many tacos this afternoon at lunch," Blaine lied, "I wasn't hungry. What's with the boxes?"

It was easy redirecting the other boy's attention. Kurt seemed more energized and happy than he'd been the previous week. Blaine knew Dalton's rigid routine took some getting used to, but he thought the adorable soprano was adjusting well.

"I took advantage of Puck," Kurt smirked, "I helped him pick out some gifts for the Glee Club, an _'I'm sorry for making out with your girlfriend—again—'_gift for Finn, and a non-romantic, strictly platonic gift for Rachel. In return for my shopping prowess, he offered to buy me shoes."

"You know someone whose name is Puck?" Blaine frowned. "It sounds like a dog's name."

Kurt laughed and eyed the boxes as he rearranged items in the closet. The sophomore didn't have a roommate since he'd transferred halfway through the semester. Blaine walked over to the barren bed and winced as he sat down. The bruises Wes had left on his body still ached terribly. They had faded from deep, dark purple into a colorful blue and yellow mixture. He knew they were slowly healing, but it still hurt to sit down, and for the last three nights he had to sleep on his stomach.

"His real name is Noah Puckerman." Kurt prattled happily. "Puck is a ridiculous nickname he adopted sometime during middle school. He's the guy with the Mohawk you saw up on stage with New Directions."

"It sounds like you had a good weekend," Blaine smiled, "How are your finals going?"

"It was an interesting weekend," Kurt said thoughtfully, "And I think they're going well-I'm tired of studying, though. I've got two more finals in the next two days, but I can't look at my trigonometry textbook anymore or my head will explode."

Blaine watched his friend sift through another box containing a few knickknacks, mismatched buttons, thread, sewing materials, and brooches. He gripped the edge of the mattress and forced a few deep breaths.

"I seem to have misplaced my favorite brooch," Kurt sighed with frustration, "I am _certain _it was in here."

_It was in there on Friday. _Blaine didn't say the words out loud, but he knew telling Kurt the truth was not an option. _I was in your room checking on Pavarotti Friday night, but I stayed a few hours longer than I should have because I was avoiding Wes._ _I got bored and curious, so I went through some of your things, and your things are just as beautiful as you are. That bug brooch and your scarf caught my attention because they reminded me of my grandmother, so I borrowed them without your permission. I was going to put them back, I swear, but Wes showed up looking for a good time and decided he liked that brooch too. I can't even think about that scarf right now. _Kurt would think he was pathetic, insane, and a kleptomaniac if he actually articulated those thoughts.

"What's wrong?"

Kurt looked up from his box and frowned once he realized his friend's silence. _Shit. _Blaine stared at his shoes and hoped he would leave it alone.

"Nothing," he lied, "Are you sure your brooch was in there?"

The soprano stood, quietly walked over to the twin bed, and sat beside him.

"Blaine," he worried, "You're trembling."

The poignant tone brought tears to Blaine's eyes: there was no way to hold them back any longer. Kurt seemed surprised at the sudden outburst, but he wrapped his arms around his torso and pulled him into a tight embrace. Blaine welcomed the embrace while he cried loudly against his chest. Kurt held him for a long time and didn't complain as a large wet spot formed on his white undershirt.

* * *

An alarm jolted Blaine from a light doze. Glaring red numbers displayed the time: 9:45. The resident manager would make rounds for lights out in fifteen minutes. He needed to go back to his own room. Kurt gently rubbed his back and expertly massaged his sore muscles. Blaine didn't know when he had started the massage, but it eased the constant pain. It felt wonderful.

"Where did you learn to do that?" He asked sleepily.

"I recently spent some time with a Sikh," Kurt explained, "When my father was in the hospital, I hired Etana. She's an Acupuncturist and worked on helping my Dad. She gave me a few free massages once she saw how worked up I was. I've been seeing her ever since."

Blaine remembered hearing about Burt Hummel's medical problems, but Kurt had glossed over a lot of the details. The countertenor had remarkable strength and determination.

"If my father had a heart attack and fell into a coma," Blaine speculated, "Everyone in the family would be squabbling over his fortune within seconds. Some of them might even pull the plug early or smother him with a pillow if got them closer to his money. Including my stepmother—who is only five years older than me."

"Is that why you're upset?" Kurt prodded, horrified by the offhand confession. "I get the impression you're not close to your family."

"What gave it away?" He knew it sounded bitter, but he didn't really care about most of his immediate or extended family.

"There aren't any family photos in your room," Kurt replied, "And you never talk about any of them except your grandparents."

He debated telling him the standard lie he told everyone at Dalton: that his mother lived in London and his father loved him, but he didn't want to lie to Kurt. The other boy had entrusted so much to Blaine. He deserved at least _some _truths.

"My father's been married five times and divorced four," He relented, "I was from his first marriage. He divorced my mother when she was diagnosed with Catatonic Schizophrenia."

"I'm sorry," Kurt squeezed his shoulder, "That must have been very difficult to deal with as a child."

"It was," Blaine somberly agreed, "I was ten when she was placed in a private hospital. I went to live with my grandparents a few months before that. Things get a little hard for me this time of year."

It wasn't a lie. Blaine's grandparents did the best they could, but they were getting older and lived in Tucson. His grandfather had Parkinson's disease. His grandmother called at least once a week to check up on him and make sure things were going well at Dalton. The alarm clock buzzed again. Blaine squeezed Kurt's warm hands and haphazardly rolled off the bed.

"Thanks," he blushed, "I'm sorry I freaked out on you."

"I don't mind," Kurt smiled again, "I've freaked out on _you _before. Turnabout's fair play."

Blaine grinned and reluctantly said his goodbyes since he was pressed for time. Kurt hugged him once more at the door. He felt better as he walked away from his friend, even though they had never actually talked about what was really bothering him: Wes. Friday was right around the corner and he wouldn't see the attractive Asian until the New Year. Hopefully, Wes would come back to Dalton with regret and understanding.

_"Where _have you been?"

Wes' low, angry voice abruptly jerked Blaine from his wistful musings. The senior rushed down the staircase and brutally slammed him into the wall. Blaine wheezed in pain.

"I was looking for you," Wes seethed, "I texted you, and I called you—what were you doing?"

"I was studying," Blaine lied in a flat, scared whisper. "I turned my phone off. Lights out is in five minutes."

"Hey!"

They both jumped at the unexpected interruption. Most of the students were already in their rooms, not wanting an unpleasant confrontation with Mr. Doyle. The resident manager was a stickler for enforcing every rule at Dalton. Only the bravest students wandered back to their rooms two minutes before lights out. Blaine was more desperate than brave, and hiding from someone he considered a good friend. At this point, risking detention was better than another encounter with Wes. Seniors had to be in their rooms by ten, but they could leave their lights on and stay up all night if they wanted to do so. Wes was so close graduating and first in the senior class: punishment was unlikely unless he did something really extreme.

Desmond Martin was bolder than most of the student body at Dalton and pushed the envelope as far as he could without getting suspended or expelled. He was a classic rich boy, but somewhere along the way he'd decided singing in an obscure band and partying were worth more effort than his education or career. The red head proudly maintained a C average and befriended kids from the local public school. Rumor had it he was currently involved in a threesome with a male dancer and a female sax player from Westerville High. Dalton's rumor mill was inaccurate at best, so Blaine figured all the gossip about Desmond was probably nothing more than exaggeration.

"What the hell is going on here?" Desmond demanded as he ran up the stairs, "I know Anderson is the Sam to your Frodo, but I don't think that warrants _this." _

"Back off, Martin," Wes glowered, tightening his grip on Blaine's arms, "It's just a little rough housing. Nothing more."

Blaine flattened his hands against the wall and winced.

"I saw the whole thing," Desmond coldly replied, "And it sure as hell didn't look like a playful shove. Christ—just _look _at Anderson. He's terrified."

He couldn't deny it. Wes released his arms and gave him a light pat on the back.

"You're imagining things Desmond," Wes remarked, "We were just messing around, right _Blaine?_"

Blaine nodded numbly and stumbled up a few steps. Desmond grimaced in disgust as Mr. Doyle appeared at the bottom of the staircase.

"Gentlemen," the gray haired teacher greeted, "It's five past ten. I'm sure you're aware that loitering here is frowned upon. Please return to your rooms, before I start passing out detention slips."

The three teenagers scrambled away from the stairs and into the third floor hallway. Blaine's stomach lurched as he entered his dorm room. Jack was already passed out and snoring lightly. The scrawny blond boy slept like the dead and never suffered from insomnia due to the large stash of drugs he had in his sock drawer. He made a beeline for the toilet and immediately threw up.

New bruises would appear on his shoulders in the morning. Blaine rested his head against the porcelain toilet and wiped the corners of his mouth. Desmond had been appalled he'd denied everything. It shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone. Blaine always was a coward.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Four**

Morning arrived too quickly. Jack was already gone when Blaine miserably crawled out of bed. It was hard getting dressed. His shoulders _throbbed _as he pulled on a standard white undershirt. The violent shove had aggravated the old bruises and everything hurt anew. It took him longer than usual to move around the room and proceed through his usual morning routine.

The day passed quickly. Blaine couldn't concentrate and barely managed to finish an arduous chemistry final. The classroom had emptied out after the first hour passed. He was the last one to finish, much to Dr. Winsor's chagrin. It wouldn't be a pretty sight once it was graded, but he didn't particularly care anymore. He had a solid A and bombing the last exam wouldn't drop him an entire letter grade anyways since Dr. Winsor used a bell curve. All he cared about was taking a long nap before an all-night cram session with David for their Geology exam tomorrow morning.

Students milled about the halls and formed small study groups in the lounges and every unoccupied room they could find. Dalton was subdued and tense through finals. Blaine looked forward to a brief break from the school. Tucson was nice this time of year. His grandparents always loved extra company and stuffed him full of warm, homecooked meals. The surrounding desert had its own unique beauty: it was almost like another country compared to Ohio's rolling green hills.  
Jack was still gone when he returned to their room, but he was on academic probation and had mandatory study sessions with tutors and older students. The slick blond normally optimized his time in study hall and passed out small bags of pills to paying customers. The students that couldn't afford Jack's drugs offered to do his homework and class projects as a payment. Blaine didn't really mind having Jack as a roommate. He was bright and sly, but rarely caused any problems. Blaine arrived at his room just after two pm, exhausted and sore, only to find Wes lounging at the desk. A guitar case adorned with a big red bow sat near his feet. Blaine shivered as he stared at Wes and waited for him to say something.

"I won't get to see you tomorrow," Wes smiled, "So I brought you an early present."

"Oh," Blaine spluttered, "Thanks."

Wes watched while he opened the black case. A beautiful hand crafted guitar sat inside it, shimmering in the soft light. Blaine lifted the instrument out of the case and ran his hands along the guitar's smooth, polished surface. The new strings sounded magnificent as he expertly plucked at them.

"Thanks," He grinned, "I've wanted a new guitar for a while."

"Since Andrew accidentally broke it in September," Wes laughed and joined him on the bed. "I _know._"

He got off the bed and rummaged around the nightstand's second drawer. They had agreed last year not to buy each other gifts, but Blaine had spent hours shopping for him anyways, and combed through ten different stores before settling on something appropriate. Their relationship had just started last November. He was still outraged when Wes bought Julie a brand new Prada dress and left Dalton without a single goodbye or a thoughtful parting gift. During winter break Blaine had waited for a phone call, a text, an email, or a simple instant message from Wes, but none came. _It's too suspicious, Blaine. I can't call you outside of school. What if my family saw my phone? The only kids they like me associating with are other Korean children. They say the other kids are bad influences. They are very traditional. I can't sit around texting a guy named Blaine. _He should have realized then that Wes would never come out of the closet or admit his undying love. Clinging to Wes for an entire year was simply pathetic and sad.

"I didn't think you got me anything," Wes eyed the small box wrapped in colorful paper; "I figured I'd try and make up for last year."

"I got you a present," Blaine answered carefully. "I thought it would be nice, considering all the gifts you've gotten me recently."

Blaine didn't mention that he had thrown those gifts in the trash on Sunday afternoon in a fit of rage. Wes opened the box and smiled as he discovered the delicate silver bracelet inside. The handsome senior grabbed his hand and pulled him back to the bed. Wes trailed kisses down his neck and stroked his chest. _I wonder what Kurt's lips taste like. _He couldn't stop the stray thought. Kurt used organic lip balm that smelled like peppermint. Blaine closed his eyes and imagined Kurt's soft, smooth hands exploring his body.

The room slightly spun as Wes swiftly flipped him onto his back. Blaine moaned in pain when he hit the mattress, muscles protesting the rough treatment. He tried rolling onto his stomach to ease the discomfort, but Wes stopped him.

"What's wrong?" Wes sounded more irritated than concerned.

"My back hurts," Blaine complained, "From yesterday."

"It wouldn't hurt if you weren't _avoiding _me," Wes frowned, "Don't do it again. You're staying on your back. _I _want to see your face."

It was an illogical argument, full of fallacies and irrational blame, but Blaine kept quiet. He didn't want any more bruises to explain away when he changed for gym in two weeks and the constant pain wore him down. It was easier to comply, so he bit his lip and let Wes take control. Blaine forced Kurt away from his mind and put on a fake smile, the one he had perfected at Bollman High.

* * *

Westerville was a good, long drive from Lima. Puck requested a night off from Sheets 'N Things and headed north on Thursday after a rather depressing Glee Club meeting. Their Christmas tree had been smashed to pieces and all their gifts were trashed. Mr. Schuester was spending the holiday alone, Finn was still mad at him, and Rachel avoided him like the plague. Artie had focused on keeping Brittany's innocence intact and offered a _Halo _tournament on New Year's Day.

Puck wished they could hang out more. Artie was a good friend and had helped him ace a geometry test, something he had never accomplished before. Puck enjoyed their study time and private jam sessions together. Artie was busy with visiting family, holiday shopping, and coddling Brittany. Once school let out for break, he knew no one aside from Santana would call him or want to hang out. He'd spend winter break the same way he had spent summer vacation: working and sleeping with older women.

Westerville was a northern suburb of Columbus and housed mostly upper middle class families. The distinction between classes was clear: the McMansions belonged to the upper-middles and the estates housed families in the top tax bracket. When Puck was hard-up for money and desperate for new customers for the pool cleaning business, he'd expanded his horizons a little and marketed his skills up and down the highway.

It had worked pretty well and the well-mannered cougars were _fierce _in bed. They liked some kinky shit. Puck never said no to any of them, because they usually shoved extra money at him and told him to come back _anytime. _The tip money had put food on the table and paid overdue bills. It was easy work, even if the best paying customer was a seventeen year old Asian guy with more money than Billy Joel. Puck fucked Scott Lee regularly throughout the summer and earned a thousand dollar paycheck each week.

He was shocked when he started actually _liking _the gay sex. Scott was bossy and kinky in bed, but he made sure they both enjoyed their bedroom activities. Puck had a hard time believing the feminine Asian kid taped them having sex. Scott seemed nice enough, if completely apathetic about life. He really didn't seem like the type of guy that taped unwitting people and then blackmail them into doing strange things. Paying someone to date someone in love with someone else to protect their virtue wasn't something normal people did.

Wesley Kim had to have ulterior motives. Puck had dwelled on the most plausible reason and decided the guy was in love with Kurt, but the countertenor didn't reciprocate his feelings and this was some kind of cruel, sick game designed to break Hummel's heart. Kurt had been through enough-he certainly didn't need anyone else fucking with his head.

The Lee's owned a sprawling estate just outside of Westerville's city limits. A sunny, tasteful yellow exterior complimented the Victorian architecture and landscaped lawn. A thin layer of snow covered the brown grass and the flower beds were empty, but the property was still beautiful. Puck always felt out of place and _poor _whenever he visited.

He parked his dilapidated truck in the perfectly round, paved driveway and waved half-heartedly at the boy standing on the wooden patio. Scott pursed his lips and hungrily eyed Puck as he sauntered down the sidewalk.

"I wasn't expecting to hear from you until late May," Scott greeted, "When the pool needed a good cleaning. Color me surprised! I was oddly happy to receive a text from you. Need a Christmas bonus?"

"I'm Jewish," Puck rolled his eyes, "and I don't need a bonus this time around. What I need are answers."

"Ooh," Scott huffed, "I'm _intrigued. _Wait, let me take a guess: is this about Wesley Kim?"

Puck nodded and followed the slender, barely dressed boy inside. Artful East-Asian décor adorned the marble walls in the foyer. A waterfall trickled down gray slabs into a small pool filled with colorful rocks and small goldfish. Hand sewed Oriental rugs created a path to a comfortable sitting room. Scott draped himself across a white leather couch and gestured for Puck to join him.

Skinny, long fingers danced down his forearm. Puck leaned into the touch and smirked. Scott was always up for good sex.

"How did you know I drove up here to talk about Kim?" He asked as he toyed with the hem of Scott's shirt. "I know you're friends with Kim, but you don't go to Dalton. I didn't think you talked to him that much."

"Oh, I'm a regular sleuth," Scott deadpanned, "Wes wanted your number. At first I thought he just wanted a quick fuck, but then I remembered he's got Blaine for that. He's been a bit short tempered lately. I _believe _he's just upset that Blaine's is currently screwing some new kid at Dalton. Wes has always been more emotionally invested in that hobbit than he's willing to admit."

"Wait—this Blaine guy is screwing around with Kurt?"

Puck stopped messing with Scott's shirt. Hummel would never give up his virtue easily: the guy was prissier than Quinn and more demanding than Rachel.

"As far as I know," Scott shrugged, "Why else would Blaine blow off Wes? I heard from a reputable source that Blaine has done _all kinds _of favors for Hummel. Honestly, Noah. You have no idea what it's like at Dalton. The Warblers hold auditions once a year. New students are never allowed to try out if they transfer in the middle of the school year. More importantly, they never _ever _get an audition for a solo the first week they join. Your friend joined without opening his mouth _and _he got an audition. Do you really think Hummel got those things without putting out?"

"You've got a point," Puck reluctantly agreed, "I just can't see Kurt whoring himself out like that. The dude is pretty prude. How did you know I was friends with Kurt?"

"Sleuthing," Scott sighed, "I'm an old pro, just like Nancy Drew. I've heard quite a bit about Kurt Hummel from the students at Dalton. I might have gotten expelled, but I still have many friends there. Kurt might very well be prude—so to speak—but he's totally giving it up to Blaine. I don't know if you've actually met the guy, but Blaine is quite charming. He could charm the socks off a homeless man."

_Damn, Hummel let the first gay guy he met take his virginity. _Puck couldn't believe it: Kurt was _easier_ than Santana and Brittany combined. He definitely needed to get the sophomore out of Dalton. That Blaine guy was using the kid and sleeping around behind his back. Christ, even he wasn't that mean. Sure, he slept around just like Blaine, but at least he was honest about his extracurricular activities with any potential girlfriends.

Scott climbed into his lap and kissed him.

"How about you earn yourself a nice, fat bonus?" Scott playfully tugged off Puck's shirt.

"Sure," Puck smiled. "I could use some new snow tires on my truck."

"Standard price then," Scott remarked, "A thousand dollars. Tell you what-I'm feeling rather generous at the moment. Why don't you let me have some fun tonight? Fifteen hundred."

"Sounds like a deal." Puck gasped as warm lips found his nipple ring and gently pulled on it. "There's just one last thing I wanted to ask you."

"Ask away." Scott removed his own shirt and slowly unbuckled Puck's belt.

"About that tape you made of us," Puck groaned while Scott yanked down his pants. "You haven't shown that to anyone, have you?"

The smaller teen stopped his aggressive advances and stared at him for a moment.

"Tape? _What tape_?"

"Wes said you taped us in the boathouse this summer," Puck explained: confused; "I just want to make sure nobody from Lima has seen it. I have a reputation to maintain."

"I see Wes is spreading lies about me again," Scott scowled, "I never made a tape, Puck. I'm not some bored rich kid that blackmails people for fun. I only tape my sexual partners when I have their permission."

"Oh," Puck moaned as Scott started fondling his nipples again. "I don't understand-why would Kim lie about that? I thought you two were friends."

"No," Scott laughed, "We're not. Wes _thinks _we're friends-but I'm his worst enemy. He just doesn't know it yet."

Puck stopped talking when a soft hand found his skin. _I've got to get Kurt the fuck away from these crazy people. _He'd save Kurt from all of these conniving rich kids if it was the last thing he did.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Again, thanks for the reviews. For those interested in the unedited version, it's really not that different, I just removed some language and references to certain body parts. If you want, feel free to read it at kurt_Blaine community at livejournal under the author Canopus74. I really need to set up a master post for this fic now.

* * *

**Part Five **

Colorful lights brightened Lima, Ohio and breathed new life into the small city. Shoppers crowded the mall and the outlet stores on the east side of town. Kurt Hummel could care less about Christmas, but he loved shopping and spending time with his father. Winter break was more than welcomed this year: he had a new family to share their holiday traditions with and old friends to visit. Dalton wasn't exactly everything he'd hoped it would be, but he was harassment-free and in love. It was certainly better than McKinley in a lot of ways.

Blaine was completely different around the Warblers and other students at Dalton. Kurt finally had an idea why the handsome, charming soloist sent so many mixed signals. One minute they were flirting and practicing a duet together and the next thing he knew, they were barely speaking. He knew Blaine had secrets: dark, painful secrets that no one should keep.

Dalton was full of gossip and rumors just like McKinley. Kurt heard a few of the Warblers gossiping about Blaine. They said all sorts of nasty things and accused him of sleeping around with the student council. _How else do you think he gets all those solos? _Kurt tried ignoring the other Warblers, but he still wondered about Blaine's past and how he got all those bruises on his back.

_Blaine sobbed for a long time. Eventually, the older boy slumped against Kurt's chest and clutched his shirt for dear life. Blaine jumped when he placed a hand on his back, but he didn't say anything. Kurt kept his hand there and pushed Blaine's shirt up. Welts and bruises covered the shorter boy's back: some were a hideous yellow while others were a deep purple. Kurt gasped as he touched them. Blaine moaned in pain. He gently massaged the tender muscles and his friend fell into a light sleep. _

Someone was abusing Blaine at Dalton, even though the school had a strict anti-harassment policy. It had to be a teacher or someone on the administration staff. Who else could it be? It wasn't exactly an easy subject to approach. _Hey, I saw all those wicked bruises on your back-I know someone's hurting you. Why don't you tell me who it is? I can help you, just like you helped me. _Kurt tried bringing up the subject twice and Blaine quickly shut down any conversations about unwanted advances or the validity of rumors.

_It's still high school, Kurt. Everything that happens at McKinley happens at Dalton. God, sometimes you're so naïve. Are you really going to believe some stupid gossip about me? _Blaine rarely lost his temper, but he had absolutely blown a gasket last week when Kurt told him some of the things other students said. It was a stupid move. Blaine shut down after their _pleasant _discussion. He was still friendly, but something had changed between them. Kurt didn't know how to fix things. Hopefully, he'd cool off during break and fully except his apology.

He had never been so grateful to see Lima than he was yesterday afternoon. Puck showed up at Dalton in Finn's place and drove him home so his stepbrother could make out with Rachel at the movies. Apparently the melodramatic couple had reunited during a holiday party at Mr. Schuester's condo. Finn had sent a happy text when they made up: _dude, I love Rachel again-she bought me a Wii! _Kurt had simply rolled his eyes and replied: _I can't believe you fell for that. Fell for what? _Finn had asked innocently. Kurt shook his head and pretended the tall football player didn't actually text him back.

The house was quiet. Kurt didn't mind it for once: Dalton was always crowded. The students were often temperamental and snapped when someone pushed them too far, more so towards the end of the semester. He reveled in the peaceful silence. Burt and Carole had gone to Columbus for a short honeymoon since they could no longer splurge on Hawaii. Finn took advantage of their absence and proceeded to woo Rachel onto third base. His plans included dinner at BreadStix, a foreign film, and karaoke.

Puck was coming over later for a round of _Halo _and a _Grindhouse _marathon. If Kurt didn't know any better, he would _swear _the Jewish teen had a crush on him. Puck was certainly eager to spend time with him lately. It was probably some weird personality disorder manifestation. Kurt had done a psychology term paper on borderline personality disorder and realized Noah Puckerman practically fit the textbook definition. A frantic effort to avoid real or imagined abandonment was one of the symptoms, and the bigger teen definitely demonstrated that trait.

The doorbell rang and he hurried up the stairs, happy for Puck's company. A violent video game followed by graphic, intense movies would distract him for an evening and he wouldn't have to worry about Blaine. At least the shorter teen was in Arizona—far away from whoever was hurting him. Kurt yanked the door opened; surprised when he found Sam Evans standing on the doorstep with a tray of coffee.

"Sam!" He smiled. "I wasn't expecting you!"

Sam stepped over the threshold and eyed the empty living for a moment.

"Finn said you were back from Dalton," the blond boy started, "I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing. I know how challenging a boarding school can be sometimes.

"I forgot you went to a place like Dalton," Kurt smiled as he took the cup. "It's different, but it's not terrible."

"I'll bet," Sam muttered darkly, "How's the coffee?"

Kurt blinked as Sam's face distorted into a large, disjointed shape and he stumbled. Black coffee spilled onto the hardwood floor. He hit the ground with an audible _thud. _Sam's boots appeared in front of his face.

"I'm sorry about this," Sam said, "I really am, but I promise we're not going to hurt you. It's just a ruse."

The room spun in an odd and lopsided circle. Kurt suspected he had a hangover: then he remembered he didn't drink. _I promise to never drink again until I'm twenty-one, Dad. _He had made the promise last year after drinking excessively with April Rhodes and throwing up all over Mrs. Pilsbury's shoes at school. Kurt still remembered the disappointed and shocked expression on his father's face when he walked into the principal's office. Drinking was off limits. He never broke a promise to his father.

A soft hand trailed down his chest. Kurt tried opening his eyes, but his vision blurred and wavered like the room.

"What are you doing?"

The voice sounded vaguely familiar. Kurt thought it belonged to one of the Warblers: he couldn't place it. Slim, gloved fingers unbuttoned his shirt.

"S-stop."

His protest came out as an incoherent squeak. The hands kept working on the collared shirt. Soon it came off and cool air hit his chest. Kurt shivered and frowned as strong arms pulled him off the bed.

"Why did you take off his shirt?"

Kurt thought he knew the second speaker as well, but all he could see of him was red hair and broad shoulders.

"Don't you watch television?" The first voice asked, annoyed. "We've got to make this look convincing."

The gloved hands ripped Kurt's shirt in half. He tried telling them to leave his clothes alone—but his throat was dry and scratchy. Nothing seemed to be working properly. The white walls swayed and leaned away from the gray carpet. It unsettled him, so he shut his eyes against the basement's motion.

"Break the lamp," the first speaker ordered, "And give me the knife."

"All right," a third agreed, "Don't forget all we need is a just a little blood."

Kurt definitely knew that voice: _Sam Evans_. Glass shattered as someone threw his slick, metallic lamp onto the floor. He managed to open his eyes again and panicked when a long, curved knife filled his vision. A short Asian teen he didn't recognize snatched his hand and pressed the blade into his palm. Kurt screamed as blood instantly pooled onto the weapon. The skinny boy released his hand and quickly moved out his sight. Someone else tightly wrapped a blue bandana around Kurt's bleeding palm.

"Don't worry, we're not going to hurt you," Sam promised as he finished the impromptu wound care. "I thought you said the stuff I gave him would knock him out."

Kurt stared at the bleached blond in utter confusion, wondering if this was some new twist on one of his frequent nightmares. It was usually Dave Karofsky that showed up in his basement and tortured him—not Sam Evans.

"He must have a higher tolerance than I surmised," the first voice said, "I'll give him a shot in the car, though I doubt at this point he even remembers that _you _gave him the drugged coffee two hours ago—that should knock him out cold until morning."

"It's the only opportunity we had," Sam huffed, "Finn told me his parents are in Columbus for the weekend, Finn made up with Rachel, and Kurt just got back for the holidays. It's last minute-but you know we aren't gonna have another chance to get him over to Westerville. I came over as soon as I got Finn's text—and I totally ditched Quinn to do this."

"I'm sure your beard can manage for one night," the first speaker mused, "I've seen you exactly twice in the last eight months."

The Asian teenager reappeared and stepped closer to Sam. Kurt stared as they embraced. Sam hugged him back.

"You know what will happen if I don't keep up the pretenses," Sam said mournfully, "They'll send me back Willows-and then you won't see me at all, Scott."

"I'm all for you two getting together again," the red head interjected, "but you know there's no time for that."

"No, there's not," Scott replied, "It's not the same between us anyways, is it Sam?"

"No," Sam agreed, "It hasn't been the same since Wally died."

"He always was the life of the party," Scott said, "right, Desmond?"

"Yeah, he was." Sorrow tainted Desmond's voice. "I'm not sure he'd like what we're doing though."

"Don't chicken out now, Des," Scott sighed, "we've been trying to bring Wes down for the last year."

"We've done a bang up job so far." Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "Our last plan failed miserably—I'm the one that paid the price."

"I'll admit it wasn't an entirely well thought out plan messing with the student elections," Scott offered, "or trying to mess with Wes-we just went about it the wrong way. How was I supposed to know Wes is a hacker?"

"I wouldn't have run against him, if I'd known that," Sam lamented, "He _exposed _our little secret to my parents, your parents, _and _Wallace's parents."

"Integrity is something Wes lacks," Scott replied, "Which is why my plan to expose _him _didn't work."

"He's a real bitch," Sam spat in disgust, "it's his fault Wallace is dead."

"I think the official status is _missing,_" Scott added bitterly, "We all know he didn't run away."

"I _know _it," Desmond whispered, "Better than any of you. He was my brother-and I've got scars to prove he wasn't a runaway."

"I'm telling you, this is gonna work." Scott grinned, changing the subject. "This is a much better idea-and all we have to do is stage a kidnapping."

"It's not staging a kidnapping when we really _are _kidnapping someone," Sam pointed out, "Even if we're setting up someone else to take the fall."

Kurt blinked at the three boys and tried to process their conversation, but he didn't even remember inviting them over. Sam hurried over and lifted him off the bed. Kurt's stomach churned as Desmond grabbed onto his legs. They carried him up the stairs and through the empty living room. He tried fighting their iron grip, but his limbs refused to corporate.

A white, newly washed Ford Expedition waited in the driveway. Scott opened the back door and Kurt suddenly found himself lying face down on the leather seats.

"I'm surprised they had a rental at such short notice," Sam said, "considering it's the holidays and all."

"Most folks don't rent an extra-large vehicle," Scott shrugged, "its not important. All the neighbors will remember is a white car _similar _to an Escalade. I doubt anyone will notice the difference."

Kurt groaned as someone turned him over. The beige roof blurred and a thin needle hovered above his eyes. He didn't even have time to protest before it pricked his arm.

"We need to get moving, Desmond," Scott said, "I've got to meet Puck in twenty minutes."  
The engine started as Kurt drifted into a forced sleep and wondered why he was sleeping in a car.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I do enjoy them:)

* * *

**Part Six **

The Cineplex's parking lot was always full on a weekend night. Half the city packed the movie theater. Lima's good citizens watched new releases and stuffed their faces with popcorn until salt seeped into their taste buds. Finding a parking spot was nearly impossible. Puck spent ten minutes searching for a space near the back. Wesley Kim's white oversized SUV sat beside a black truck he knew belonged to Sam Evans.

Puck pictured the blond haired boy holding hands with a slim, pretty cheerleader. They were the ideal, all American couple everyone cooed over. It sickened him. There was nothing he could do to stop Quinn from dating the bland football player. He didn't even really _try _to deter them. Quinn had ignored him through the summer and never acknowledged their baby girl. Fortunately, Shelby Corcoran was sympathetic and occasionally sent him pictures of Beth. He got to visit them twice before they moved out of state. It sucked to admit it, but he knew his little girl would have a better life with Shelby. She could provide a lot more than food, shelter, and love.

The only things he had to offer _anyone _were a mid-range baritone and a well-toned body. Puck had discovered that sex was an extremely lucrative business: he intended to milk the market for as long as he could. Wesley Kim wasn't actually paying him for sex like Scott Lee, but he knew it was only a matter of time before the slick Asian teen expected him to make a move on Kurt Hummel. The frequent texts were a clear reminder. Wes hounded Puck for details, insisted on at least two dates every weekend, and sent him Kurt's schedule on a weekly basis.

Puck worked on Kurt daily and did his best to _woo _the countertenor away from Blaine. It wasn't going so well. Kurt talked about the Warbler's lead singer the same way he used to talk about Finn. Puck simply lied to Wes so the cash would keep coming. _We held hands. We kissed. We made out in my truck. I gave him a handjob. _Kurt seemed to like his company well enough and they often went on fake dates. Everyone in New Directions had started to notice their budding relationship. Kurt never shut up about Blaine, so no one really believed they were doing anything more than hanging out.

The extra money was nice and went into a savings account in case his mom started drinking again. Puck hoped the new job would deter her from it for a few more months, but he knew it was only a matter of time before she turned towards alcohol. Sarah wanted to go to summer camp this year with her friends. Puck would pay for it himself if there was enough money and their mother didn't wind up in rehab for another three months.

They had barely survived last summer living on their own. He worked double shifts at Sheets 'N Things and cleaned pools seven days a week, but minimum wage didn't cover a mortgage payment, utility bills, and groceries. Puck scraped together every penny he had and even Sarah handed over her piggy bank each week while their mother recovered from her addiction (again) in Columbus.

_Things were bad when you had to whore yourself out for a thousand bucks and thought you were finally catching a break. _Sleeping with Scott didn't appeal to Puck, not at first, but their cupboards had been empty. He had reached a point where skipping meals was a must and the utility company promised to shut off their electricity in two days. Five thousand dollars a month sounded like a fortune compared to a measly eight hundred. When he had accepted Scott's offer, his hands shook from both apprehension and hunger.

Puck climbed out of his truck and frowned at the slim Asian teenager leaning against the Escalade. _Did Kim shrink a few inches, or does he look smaller because he's hunched over and wearing a hoodie? _He shook his head and stomped towards Wes. _I bet he's gonna want me to sleep with Kurt tonight._ Puck figured he could spend the night over at Hummel's house without too much persuasion and at least get them onto first base. If Kurt freaked out on him, then he could lie and tell Kim they went all the way.

"What's so important that you had to meet me all the way out here, Kim?"

Kim didn't answer and kept staring at the ground, completely ignoring him. It took Puck a moment to realize there were _other _footsteps behind his own. Without warning a hard, wooden baseball bat swung into his kneecap and sent him careening onto the freezing asphalt. All consuming, white-hot pain shot up his left leg and he screamed in agony.

"Hit him in the head," Wesley Kim ordered, "_that_ will keep him from talking."

Puck's assailant lifted the bat over his head, but it never connected with his skull. Angry voices filled the air and shoes slapped against the pavement. Every nerve in his body burned as an engine revved nearby and tires squealed. The Escalade left long, thick skid marks and peeled out of the parking lot. A pretty, petite girl leaned over him and gasped.

"Oh my God," Quinn Fabray screamed and crouched beside him, "It's _Puck! _Sam-call an ambulance!"

* * *

A crowd had gathered outside the Cineplex by the time authorities arrived. They whispered and speculated about the beaten juvenile delinquent. Sam Evans watched them gawk behind yellow police tape and shook his head, disgusted at their stupidity. The theater's front office was small and cramped. A chubby manager had offered the space to Lima's finest so they could get eye witness statements.

Sam sat in a hideous blue chair and counted backwards from a hundred as he stared out the window, desperate for some real space. He didn't handle enclosed areas well. Counting helped, but it was merely a distraction. The room wasn't just small; it was _tiny. Feels like a closet. _He closed his eyes and counted in Spanish.

"Are you all right, dude?" Finn whispered as he leaned over in his chair. "You look a little green."

"Fine," Sam lied. "What time is it?"

Finn stared at him for several more seconds, clearly not believing Sam's lie-but he still pulled out his phone to check the clock. The flashing green light caught his eye, and he knew it signaled a new text message. _Check your message, moron! _The text had been there for a while. Sam glared at Finn and waited for him to find Kurt's urgent message. Hudson needed to freak out when they were with the police officers: everything would feel more _organic _that way.

"It's seven fourteen," Finn informed him, "Looks like I got a text."

The tall quarterback shoved the phone back into his pocket without checking the new message. Sam sighed with frustration. The room felt smaller than a closet now-it was more like a shoebox. He was practically sitting on top of the framed _Scarface _poster.

"Maybe you should check it," Sam suggested, "It might be something important."

"It might be Rachel," Finn realized, "maybe they got an update on Puck."

The cellphone reappeared and Finn's thick fingers traveled over several buttons. Sam breathed in relief when the other boy's face fell. _Looks like he got Kurt's text-it doesn't matter that Scott is the one that sent it-Finn's dumb enough to believe anything I say. _

"What's wrong?" Sam asked and hoped it sounded more sincere than he thought it did.

"It—it's _Kurt,_" Finn stammered, "look at what he sent!"

Sam started as Finn threw the phone into his lap. An all caps text message appeared. The letters blended together and arranged themselves in an incoherent manner. He shook his head and handed the cellphone back to Finn.

"It will take me half an hour to decipher that, Finn." He confessed. "I have a hard time reading really small print like that."

"Oh," Finn answered and retrieved the phone, "Kurt said he needs help-that he feels strange and thinks he's at Dalton."

"That sounds serious," Officer Bailey interrupted, "Who's Kurt?"

"Finn's brother." Sam answered. "He's at home."

The bulky black cop asked them a series of questions. It wasn't long before David Karofsky came into their conversation and they were high tailing it out of the little room. Sam watched with grim satisfaction as Finn climbed into a police car. Their plan was working. Wesley Kim would be in police custody before midnight.

For the first time in months, Sam was happy. It was bitter and mean-but it was still happiness. Quinn and Rachel waited for him at the hospital. The other police officer agreed to let him leave without much thought and Sam jogged over to his truck. He climbed in and started the engine, smiling when his phone rang. The number showed up as _private, _but he knew it was Scott.

"How are things going on your end, Sam?" Scott merrily asked, "I hope Hudson is on his way."

"They'll be headed that way soon," he replied, "Puck's already at St. Rita's."

"You almost sound guilty," Scott sighed, "He'll be fine. Desmond didn't hit anything vital."

"I've been thinking," Sam began as he leaned on the steering wheel, "that hurting and kidnapping innocent bystanders so we can get revenge on a guy that wronged us doesn't exactly make us any better than our enemy-does it?"

"I think _wronged _is a bit inaccurate," Scott huffed, "He ruined our entire lives! It's his fault Wally's gone!"

Sam could hear the hatred in his friend's voice and grimaced. Maybe that was the point. Wally was _dead. _Wes was a manipulative bastard, but he certainly had never intended for three forced outings to end with a missing teenager and two expulsions. Sam remembered Kim's quiet apology the day he had been expelled from Dalton Academy. _I'm sorry, Sam-I wish none of this happened. Wallace was a good kid. _Sam tightened his grip on the steering wheel and recalled his response. _What did you think would happen? That Wally could survive in a place like Willows? You know how sensitive he was-what did you think a gay conversion camp would do to him? Do you know what it's like, knowing that my parents are sending me there-I wish you were the one being sent there. They found out I was still seeing Scott. _

It was a cruel thing to say, but Sam had been furious and terrified at the time. Wes was just like them-forced to stay silent because his parents were traditional and old fashioned. Sam's parents kept him at Dalton longer than Wally's had, but he had still ended up in that horrible place where they locked him in closets, blindfolded him, and they told him he was sick when he _wasn't. _He wondered if Wes' parents would send him to a place like that. _They're very traditional. _Wes didn't deserve to be put in Camp Willows. No one did; no matter how wicked they were.

"Don't get cold feet now," Scott pleaded, "we've come this far already."

"I'm not getting cold feet," Sam softly promised, "I still hate him-but I don't think Puck or Kurt should have to suffer because of us."

"Consider them casualties of war." Scott sighed. "It's not like we're _seriously _hurting them. Desmond wasn't supposed to break anything, and Kurt will just be a little cold and confused when he wakes up. I know those assholes fucked with your head, Sam-but Wes deserves everything coming his way. You _know _he does."

"You're probably right," Sam agreed, "but does Blaine?"

"Fuck Blaine!" Scott sounded slightly hysterical. "Why are you suddenly so philosophical? You're the president of the _I Hate Wesley Kim Club, _remember?"

Not for the first time, he wondered what it was like spending day in and day out all alone in that big mansion with no company except a merciless tutor and a housekeeper. Scott's parents could care less about his sexuality, but they had high expectations. They had not handled his expulsion well and had forbidden him to see anyone outside of the help until he graduated.

Occasionally, the slender teen got around their rules when they weren't around. The only parent-approved friend Scott had seen for the last year was Wesley Kim. Sam knew they had legitimate reasons to hate Wes; but Blaine was a different story. The kid's boyfriend had been beating him for God-knows how long and he'd fall just as hard and fast as Wes would once the truth about their relationship got out.

"Blaine's going to be another casualty of our war against Wes." Sam finally broke their long, tense silence.

"You didn't get expelled for seeing me behind your parent's backs," Scott replied, "They wouldn't have even found out about us if _you _hadn't lost it and hit Wes in the face. Sure, the bastard framed you for rigging that stupid election-but you didn't even make it to your hearing 'cause you freaked out. Blaine will be just fine. You know better than anyone what will happen if anyone lays a finger on him."

"I hope you're right about that," Sam ran a shaking hand through his bleached hair. "Listen-I've got to get to the hospital. Quinn's expecting me."

"I'll call you later tonight," Scott informed him, "Once I'm sure they've pinned Kurt's kidnapping on Wes."

Sam said goodbye to his friend and ended the call. As he drove away from the movie theater, he concentrated on the road and tried to ignore his _I hate Wesley Kim Club _didn't listen to their doubts. All they wanted was revenge.

*yes, I blatanly stole the _I hate Wesley Kim Club _from Buffy*


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thank You for all of the reviews:) I really appreciate them!

* * *

**Part Seven**

Scott Lee had stolen Wesley Kim's cellphone. After a few frantic searches through the house and calling the phone from the landline at his family's estate, Wes logged onto his computer. Tracking a cell phone was easy as long as a person had the right tools to do so. Most phones had their own GPS. All it required was a roaming signal and a nearby antenna tower.

Wes had found the phone in Westerville. A familiar map popped up on _Google Maps _and he frowned. The last time he had seen Scott was on Wednesday afternoon. His phone had disappeared sometime this afternoon. The weird part about the missing cell was when he'd called Scott and the other boy had _denied _it. Something was going on.

Toledo was over ninety minutes from Westerville, but he still climbed into his Escalade and headed southeast. Scott had lied. What he couldn't figure out was _why. _They were friends. Scott's parents kept him locked down in their house like a prisoner; Wes was the only teenager he saw beside Noah Puckerman. Scott invited Puck over when the help was scarce and his parents weren't around.

As far as he knew, Scott and Sam had broken up last year after the elections went south. Cheating had been Scott's idea. Discovering a threesome within Dalton's prestigious walls was a bit of a shock to Wes. The stories about what went on in boarding schools never actually came true, but he had seen the pictures to prove it. Scott was sleeping with a shy red head and a chubby brunette at the _same time. _

Wes had just started seeing Blaine during the student elections, but he really had not intended to out the three teenagers. Stumbling onto their graphic photographs and emails had been an accident: all he had planned to do was to frame Sam for rigging the votes. Dalton held elections with paper ballots, but they kept all the final tallies on electronic files. He had hacked into main system and switched the votes to Sam's favor, even though David had initially won the election. Then Wes left a sloppy, easily traced electronic trail for the IT department to find.

Technically speaking, it was the employees in the IT department that had found the dirty photos on Sam's computer. The administration was embarrassed and held meetings, suddenly worried about their student's activities. They conducted room searches and punished students with contraband. Scott was caught with some of Jack's drugs and expelled. Sam got suspended for rigging the elections and had to wait for a hearing. Wallace's parents pulled him out of Dalton as soon as they discovered his relationship with the other two boys. Desmond protested until he was blue in the face, but the twins were still separated.

Wes had cried when Wallace went missing. No one at Dalton knew he was partly responsible for it: not even Blaine. He thought if anyone would understand his sorrow and regret, it would be Scott. The trip to Westerville felt longer than it ever had. Paranoid thoughts raced through his mind. Scott was the only real friend he had beside Blaine and David.

The Lee's manor came into sight at nine thirty seven. Wes' knuckles ached from gripping the steering wheel too tightly. The cast iron gate swung open as soon as he entered the correct code on the key pad and he sped down the long driveway. He parked the Escalade and got out, breathless from the stress and worry. The garage door opened before he had the chance to ring the fancy, brass covered doorbell.

"Wesley Kim," Scott greeted coolly as he sauntered out of the garage, "I wasn't expecting you so soon. I thought I had at least another hour."

Any questions died in his throat when he saw the gun and its long, silver barrel. Panic and fear swamped him. Wes couldn't speak or even _move. _The only thing he could focus on was the gun aimed at his chest and Scott's slightly slurred voice.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised," Scott sighed as he stepped forward, "taking your phone was risky, but I needed it."

For a second, Wes considered asking him why he had stolen it, but the smaller teen pressed the barrel against his chest. He stared down at the gun and trembled. Confusion plagued his mind. Scott had a gun and wielded it like an expert. _Maybe all those months of isolation finally got to him. He's going to kill me. _Tears sprang into his eyes. He didn't want to die.

"P-please don't hurt me," he muttered; betrayed and terrified, "I—I thought we were _friends._"

Scott laughed. Wes flinched at the bitter, hollow sound.

"We're not friends, you idiot," he hissed, "All my life, all I've heard about is how great Wesley Kim is, and how I just can't quite measure up."

Wes tried backing up; desperate to get away from the cold steel pushing against his sternum, but Scott grabbed his wrist and threw him into the side of a white SUV. The gun left his ribcage. Wes gasped in shock as Scott shoved the Glock in his face.

"I stopped caring once I reached puberty," Scott sneered, "Even though my parents made me shadow you through life. Singing lessons, violin lessons, student council, swimming, Taekwondo-whatever _you _did, I had to do, because for some insane reason my parents have a weird competition with your parents, but the only way they can compete with one another is through _us _these days."

"They're friends," Wes stammered, "it's how they are."

Scott sent him a withering look and flung open the back door. Wes watched him wearily, afraid to move. His wrist _hurt. _Scott fussed with something in the backseat. He couldn't believe this was happening. _Is he planning on taking me somewhere? _Wes' breaths quickened at the thought.

"You can't even see how fucked up our lives are," Scott continued and pointed the gun at his face. "I hear you complain about how controlling your father is-but you never stand up to him. You roll right over like a damned dog. I might have to do things behind my parent's backs, but at least I have-_had—_something of my own."

"I have Blaine."

It sounded pathetic and weak, but he was surprised at the conviction in his own voice. Scott stared at him for a minute.

"I didn't realize you cared so much about him, Wes," Scott spat, "considering the way you treat him-Desmond was right. We should have gone after him instead of Hummel."

"Wait, what?"

Wes felt the familiar hatred for the countertenor instantly return despite the severity of his situation.

"The thing is," Scott rolled his eyes, "you might have had Blaine-but I had Sam and Wally. _You _took them away from me. I'm stuck here in this house because of you, while you get to run the Warbler's council and fuck Blaine whenever you want. I think it's only fair that you get a taste of some of your own medicine. Get in the fucking car!"

Rough hands shoved him into the seat. Wes wanted to argue that it wasn't _his fault _that Wallace and Sam were sent away, but he instinctively knew any protests would fall on deaf ears. Scott had a manic glint in his eyes. It terrified him, despite the other boy's smaller stature. There was no way in hell he was going anywhere with a crazy, attention starved kid that hated him.

Without thinking, Wes shifted his balance to the balls of his feet. A perfect, powerful back kick sent Scott flying into the well-organized tool bench. The slender teen hit the metal with a loud _crack_ and the gun slid across the counter. Sensei Chang would have been proud. _I am very impressed with your progress, Mr. Kim. Mr. Lee, I think you need to practice more. _For the first time in his life, Wes was grateful for the forced Taekwondo lessons and his father's incessant practice sessions.

He scrambled across the floor and reached for the gun, just as Scott recovered from the hard kick. The other boy screamed in rage and lunged. _I don't want to die. _Wes screeched and pulled the trigger_. _Time seemed to slow down as the bullet left the chamber. Blood erupted from Scott's right shoulder and he stumbled back into the worktable, shock etched into his young face. Wes watched in mute horror as the teen's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he slumped over.

Dark red blood pooled around Scott's torso and formed a messy pile on the cement floor. Wes had never seen so much blood before; his stomach churned. The Dim Sum he'd eaten for dinner came up faster than he could process feeling sick. He winced at the pile of vomit and swiped his mouth with his sleeve, disgusted by the noodles and bits of chicken lying on the ground.

His hands shook, but steadied a little when he saw Scott was still breathing. The garage was quiet. No one knew he was here. _I can walk away from this. _It was a fleeting thought, yet he held onto it with a strange, burning passion. _I can walk away from here—from everything. Dad, Dalton, Westerville, Ohio. _There were so many things he could do without his father around. He could reinvent himself; move to Vancouver and enroll in a small liberal arts college. If he wanted, he could participate in a local play or break dance in public. He wouldn't have to hide his relationship with Blaine.

_Blaine. _The younger boy was already in Arizona, but he could probably talk him into running away with him. Who would miss them? Chin Ho Lee was cold and ruthless. Hana Lee was nothing more than a trophy wife, always willing to turn a blind eye towards her husband's transgressions. Blaine had one parent that stuck him in boarding schools because he didn't want to see him and another parent in a mental institution. They could disappear and no one would care after a while: not if they were smart about it.

Wes stood and calmly wiped the grime from his clothes. There wasn't time to go back to Toledo for his things. Fortunately, he knew Scott's house like the back of his hand and he had stashed his laptop in the Escalade before he'd left his house. Scott's parents were out of town until the twenty third. The help would come in sometime tomorrow. No one would even start looking in the next twelve hours.

The house was eerily quiet as Wes made his way upstairs to the second level. Scott usually had televisions on or music playing at night to keep him company. He hurried into his (former) friend's bedroom. As always, the spacious bedroom was tidy. Wes rummaged through a few drawers and smiled when he found a drawer with a hidden compartment. The small slot contained several fake identification cards, a large wad of money, a little black book, and some zip lock bags with drugs inside them.

The drugs weren't labeled. Wes retrieved a large duffle bag from Scott's walk-in closet and shoved all of the contraband inside it. The black book contained phone numbers, bank account numbers, and most importantly, the code to the Lee's safe. Wes grinned at the book, ridiculously happy that Scott's loneliness left him with boredom and loose lips. Once he crossed state lines, he decided he would call an ambulance for the injured teen.

Wes bypassed Scott's closet for clothes and made a beeline for the third floor, where the gigantic master bedroom was located. Scott was at least two sizes smaller than he was. He could never fit into his clothes. The lights stayed off as he bolted upstairs, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. Freedom was mere _minutes_ away.

Excitement won out over the fear and nausea: the future looked brighter than it ever had. Wes rifled through the Lee's closet and shoved some practical clothes into the duffle bag. The safe was tucked behind a wall of designer shoes. He entered the code with unnecessary force, eager to leave Westerville and Ohio in the past.

The door popped open. Stacks of money, expensive jewelry, papers, and a few manila envelopes sat inside the safe. Wes threw the cash into the bag, but left the jewels and folders alone. Some of the jewelry looked rare and priceless. He couldn't steal them; they belonged to Mrs. Lee. The money could easily be replaced and the folders didn't interest him.

Wes closed the safe and journeyed into the bathroom. Travel sized toiletries went into the duffle and he grabbed the useful medication bottles concealed behind the mirrors. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Prescription Motrin, Vicodin, Ambien, Prozac, and Valium were tossed inside the sack.

The duffle bag felt much heavier as he ran back downstairs. Scott hadn't moved from his position on the floor. Wes glared at him and fetched his computer from the Escalade. There was no way he could take his own vehicle. The Ford Expedition was cold, but the keys were still in the ignition. Wes started the engine and hurled the bag into the back.

A soft moan escaped from the backseat. Wes froze at the unexpected sound and turned around. A thin, prone figure was stretched out in the seat. He flicked on the overhead light and frowned when Kurt Hummel's face swam into the light. The sophomore was _sleeping. _Thick ropes bound his hands and feet. Scott's words floated back into his mind. _"We should have gone after him instead of Hummel." _

Wes started and realized that Scott had planned to frame him for kidnapping and murder. The nausea returned full force. Scott wanted him to go to prison for a crime he didn't commit. _Fuck me, I almost went to prison! _Rage bubbled in his gut. Wes debated dumping Kurt beside Scott and taking off, but decided against it. Blaine might not believe him if he told him that he hadn't anything wrong. Wes knew Blaine cared about Kurt, more than he should.

No, leaving him behind would be a bad idea. Blaine needed to see firsthand that he had nothing to do with Kurt's disappearance from Lima. Wes would take Kurt to Arizona. As he carefully backed out of the garage, he turned on the radio and smiled. Westerville was only a few hours from the state line. They would be in Kentucky before midnight.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thanks again for the reviews and favorites:). I can't believe how long this thing has become. I'm guessing this will be about fifteen parts. I know where I am going and how it will end.

* * *

**Part Eight **

Strong wind gusts and pelting rain drenched the Jemez Mountains. Temperatures hovered near freezing. The Fenton Lake Campground was deserted except for an older RV parked against the wall where it charged on shore power. The camper was drafty. Kurt Hummel shivered miserably under an Afghan blanket and wished he could pull it over his head. The handcuffs kept his wrists pinned to the metal railing beside the hard, uncomfortable bed. His back ached from lying on the thin twin mattress for such a long time.

The drugs were wearing off. Kurt felt every bruise, the pinched ache in his wrists, and the pounding in his head. The gag was gone. Wes had removed it once he'd ditched the Ford Expedition in Oklahoma yesterday morning. Daybreak turned the steep mountain hills pink. The sky was a brilliant mixture of orange and blue. Even the camper looked pink in the early morning light. Kurt had never seen a sunrise like it. The hues and color combination was brighter and somehow, more jubilant than any dawn he had witnessed before.

Footsteps distracted Kurt from the sharp, painful headache and spectacular colors. A coffee machine churned on the short counter. The sound of boiling water and its incessant _drip _only added to his discomfort. Wes ran a comb through his hair as he stepped closer towards the bed. The older teen had slept on the fold out couch-bed, but he had already removed the blankets and shoved the bed into its nook in the wall while Kurt suffered nearby.

"I bet you'd like a shower." Wes began cautiously. "I'll let you get up, shower, and eat on your own-but I don't want any trouble this time. Understand?"

Kurt nodded, but the other teen stayed where he was.

"Say yes," Wes snapped, "And just remember that I've got a gun, and what happened when you decided to fight me in Oklahoma. Got it?"

"Yes," Kurt muttered; acutely aware of the welts on his back. "I've _got it._"

"Good." Wes fingered the handgun tucked into his waistband. "Let's try this again."

The handcuffs opened with a loud _click _as Wes inserted the key. Kurt moaned when feeling returned his hands. Pins and needles traveled up and down his arms. Wes stood next to the coffee pot and warily eyed him from the tiny kitchen. Kurt fought nausea and pain as he slowly undressed.

A year ago, stripping in the presence of another boy would have turned him on. Football practices had been torture. Kurt had showered and changed after the other players were gone, knowing they would freak out if he got a hard on in the locker room. Sometimes he skipped showering all together when there were other boys around. It was too dangerous. He pretended Wes wasn't there and stepped into the undersized shower.

Pressure was almost non-existent, but it was better than nothing. Kurt stood under the warm water and pressed his head against the plastic wall. The bruises on his lower back stung as the spray hit his skin. All the contusions from Karofsky and McKinley were gone. _I was supposed to be safe at Dalton. _Kurt clutched a generic soap bar (which would _so _damage his skin) and cried.

He couldn't say who he hated more right then: Blaine or Wes. _I wish I had never gone to spy on the Warblers. _Before the heart attack, Glee Club had always been his safe haven and the best part of his day. Friendship and music made it easier to deal with the bullies and hate speech hurled his way. It wasn't until Kurt hit a rough patch that he realized how fickle friends could be. Religion was always a touchy subject to talk about, but the _second _he had admitted to being a nonbeliever, everyone had turned on him except Coach Sylvester and Noah Puckerman.

Puck had come by the hospital three times and offered comfort instead of prayer. Kurt had felt obliged to indulge the mohawked teen and spied on the Warblers even though he'd been frustrated in their boys' Mash Up meeting. The girls would have at least _listened _to his ideas-although Santana frequently made snide comments regarding his sexuality-they never told him to get lost or _make himself useful. _

If he had not gone to Dalton Academy, none of this would have happened. Blaine was nothing more than a hypocrite hiding behind a cute, charming smile. _Courage. _Kurt thought back to all of those text messages Blaine had sent when they first met and grimaced. The guy had a lot of nerve; telling Kurt to be courageous and stand firm when he couldn't even stand up to his own boyfriend.

Boyfriend. _Of course Blaine gave me a blowjob on our second date. He really wanted that solo. _Wes had told him about their relationship during their journey through the northwest corner of Kentucky and all of Missouri. Kurt's coherency was murky at best due to the drugs coursing through his bloodstream, but he did remember some of the sordid details from Wes' graphic and unapologetic tales.

Kurt hated himself for loving Blaine so eagerly and easily. Really, he should know better than to fall that hard after the whole Finn fiasco last year. Blaine had been a bright light at the end of McKinley's dark halls. Now Blaine was a cliché, skulking back to an abusive boyfriend every night. _I thought it was a teacher—even though all the signs were right there in front of my face. _The secret looks and late night study sessions should have been a screaming clue. Wes constantly hovered and always gifted Blaine with food and drinks when they studied in the library or the lounges.

"I think you've been in there long enough, Kurt." Wes' voice halted his spinning thoughts. "It's been ten minutes. Come on out now. _Slowly." _

He hurled the soap onto the floor and glared at the faucets as he turned the water off. In retrospect, attempting to escape when he was still recovering from potent narcotics had been a bad idea. All he had seen from the dilapidated motel room was an endless stretch of tall prairie grass and asphalt. Normally, he was a fast runner. Every Cheerio was-they scattered like rats when Coach Sylvester was pissed about something.

_The room décor alone was a good enough reason to run away. Someone had hired the worst interior decorator on the planet and let them put up hideous frog patterned curtains. The same frogs adorned the bedspreads and ugly shag carpet completed the circa nineteen fifty five style. Kurt rubbed at his arms and waited for Wes to turn the water on. The older boy had believed he was still asleep and removed the ropes. He'd told Kurt why they were in Oklahoma last night, but he didn't want to go to Arizona or convince Blaine that Wes had saved him—he just wanted to go home. _

_Steam trickled under the bathroom door as warm water poured out of the showerhead. Kurt stumbled towards the door and struggled with the locks. The gold chain slipped off easily, but the deadbolt was older than dirt. His fingers trembled as he tried a few combinations of pulling and jiggling until the lock finally gave. It popped open, revealing gray skies and a light rain. _

_A cold wind blasted his face when he stepped onto the second floor balcony. The parking lot was practically empty; there were only three cars parked in front of the motel. A neon sign advertised a gas station across the street. It wasn't far. Kurt could alert the manager that he had been kidnapped and dragged through three different states. The police would arrive and realize that Wes was in the middle of some kind of psychotic break. _

_His knees wobbled as he leaned on the railing and cautiously walked towards the stairs. The cement was cold against his bare feet. Strong hands suddenly gripped his shoulders and threw him into the wall. The window rattled. Kurt squeaked as Wes roughly hauled him back to the room. The door slammed shut and shook the wall, but no one had noticed their struggle. Other travelers were heading home for the holidays. They were focused on long road trips, traffic information, and weather reports. _

_The frogs spun as Wes shoved the gag back into Kurt's mouth and bound his hangs together. It took him a moment to realize that the other boy was completely naked and wet. Kurt grimaced. Wes had been naked outside and nobody had noticed. _

"_I fucking hate you." Wes sneered and picked up his belt from the floor. "None of this would have happened if you hadn't come along and screwed things up." _

_The leather belt struck his back with a cold, hard fury. Kurt screamed. _

Wes crowded him as soon as he stepped out of the shower. Kurt tensed when he gripped his left forearm, but no blows came.

"Sit here." Wes guided him to the metal table and promptly handcuffed his wrist to the wooden bench. "Eat some breakfast. I've got to make a phone call."

He grabbed his new cellphone and hurried outside. Kurt numbly stared at the plate of fruit, vegetables, and crackers. The food looked vaguely appetizing: he just didn't know if he could actually keep it down. After a few minutes he decided an apple would probably be all right and cautiously bit into to it. The hot tea eased his dry throat. At least Wes believed in eating healthy food. Kurt eyed the camper and noticed the folded map beside the paper plate. Intrigued, he unfolded it and regarded the highlighted roads and highways. Wes had carefully and meticulously planned out their route to Arizona.

The camper door banged open and Wes walked inside with a prepaid cellphone attached to his ear.

"You heard me," Wes hissed, "I think you should say hello."

Kurt cringed when Wes handed him the cell. The taller teen impatiently gestured at it and glared. He sighed and picked up the phone.

"H-hello?" The half-hearted greeting sounded quiet and strained.

"Kurt?" Blaine gasped. "Oh, _god. _Are you all right?"

"No," Kurt snapped, "I am _not okay!" _

Blaine breathed heavily into the phone and sniffled. Kurt glared at the cell; pissed he was in New Mexico instead of at home. His dad would worry, which would create extra stress he didn't need.

"I talked to Finn," Blaine stammered, "and your Dad."

"Y-you did?" Kurt had no idea how long it had been since Friday. The past few days had blurred together. "How are they?"

"Confused." Blaine apologetically sniffed. "They thought Karofsky broke into your house and kidnapped you, but the police didn't find anything when they searched his house, and he had an airtight alibi. They didn't know what to think until Puck was coherent enough to tell the authorities what Wes did to him."

"Wait," Kurt frowned, "what happened to Puck?"

"Wes cracked his knee with a baseball bat," Blaine somberly explained, "Wes swears he was set up—but there were eyewitnesses. They saw an Asian driving a white SUV. Wes says he was framed-and the police seem to agree with him. Scott Lee was shot with his parent's gun and his fingerprints were all over your house."

Blaine's story only confirmed what Wes had told him earlier-that he'd been framed by students at Dalton for fabricated transgressions. Kurt remembered other students bad mouthing Wes behind his back.

"I don't understand," Kurt mumbled, "why would anyone go after Puck?"

Wes glared at him as he asked the question, but Kurt ignored him for the moment.

"Puck told Finn that Wes was paying him to date you," Blaine paused, "he seemed to think that I had seduced you and pressured you for sex-and that you gave in."

"What?" Kurt said, incredulous. "Where did he get that idea?"

"I could probably make an educated guess," Blaine whispered, "Finn was pretty pissed at me when he called. Your Dad intervened once Finn started yelling. I managed to convince him that we weren't sleeping together or even dating—fortunately, Mercedes and Rachel helped me out."

"I think you two have had a long enough chat." Wes growled and abruptly snatched the phone away.

Kurt pushed the plate of food away, upset his family had believed he would let _anyone _pressure him for sex. Karofsky's unwanted advances had terrified him. Sex intimidated him now in a way it never had before. His nightmares often involved Karofsky stealing more than a kiss, a stroke, and a wedding figurine. Sometimes the big football player didn't stop when Kurt pushed him away.

"I let you talk to him, Blaine," Wes' irritated tone distracted him from his new misery, "Just meet us where I said to. Stop worrying so much. He's _fine. _As long as you're on time, he'll be home in a day."

The phone call ended and Wes stared at him for a long, tense moment. Kurt wiped the tears away from his eyes.

"Why did you pay Puck to date me?" Kurt hated the way his bottom lip trembled.

"I thought if you got a boyfriend, Blaine wouldn't be so distracted anymore," Wes shrugged, "I realize now that I didn't need to go to all that trouble. I should have just told you that Blaine and I were together. I think that would have done the trick."

"If you're so into him," Kurt started uncertainly, "then why do you hit him? And if Blaine is so into your relationship, then why has he been spending so much time with me lately?"

It was the _wrong _thing to say. Wes backhanded Kurt across the face.

"Don't judge me," Wes glared, "and don't talk about Blaine. You're nothing more than a weak, pathetic _virgin. _All you are is a distraction to Blaine-even if he did sleep with you-he would never _date _you. So shut up-or I'll gag you again."

Tears rolled down his cheeks, but Kurt didn't say anything more. Wes stalked away from the table and climbed into the driver's seat. The engine fired up and the camper quickly left the campground. Kurt rubbed at his sore cheek. Hopefully, Blaine would call the police and the authorities would be waiting for them when they made it to Arizona. The older boy might have given Wes a blowjob for a stupid solo, and he let his boyfriend push him around, but he had sounded upset and worried on the phone. At this point, Blaine was Kurt's only ally.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: As Always, thanks for the reviews and favorites:) I think this story will be exactly twelve or thirteen parts, but I'm finally wrapping it up!

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**Part Nine **

Tall, dark windows greeted Blaine Anderson as he walked down the paved driveway. Rain clouds hung overhead and threatened flash floods. A cool breeze swayed the green Mesquite trees and thick underbrush protruding from the dry sand. Green colored the desert landscape. Recent rain had left its vibrant mark in Sedona. The moonless night obscured the towering red rocks lining the steep foothills.

The large adobe styled mansion looked deserted. Blaine clutched the slip of paper in his hands and read the address for the tenth time in an hour. _Six Nine One Four. _He had scribbled down the numbers less than three hours ago. The only instructions Wes had given him two days ago were simple: _meet us in Sedona. _

Blaine had debated his options and had considered calling the police, but in the end decided it was too risky. Wes had been on edge two days ago. An entire police department descending upon him might end badly for everyone. For the last forty-eight hours Kurt's angry and scared voice echoed in his mind while guilt chipped away at his soul. If he had told someone about Wes—_anyone_—then none of this would have happened. Blaine had planned to break things off with the older boy once winter break had ended; even though he could wind up back at Bollman Preparatory if Wes decided to make a fuss about it. He blanched at the mere thought of returning to Chicago, but he knew he had to put a stop to Wes' abuse. His sanity depended on it.

The house remained dark as Blaine rang the doorbell. It echoed through the foyer. He had no idea who actually owned the place. Wes had never mentioned anything about a vacation home in Sedona. The garage door rumbled open.

"I see you managed to make out here all right," Wes greeted coolly. "Why don't you come inside? I don't want the neighbors to see us."

The garage door closed as soon as Blaine walked under it. Wes stepped closer and eyed him for a long, tense moment. Kurt was somewhere inside that house. Blaine needed to get him to safety. Burt Hummel's firm and irritated reprimand stuck to him like glue. _You don't deserve someone as good as Kurt, kid-I know you aren't sleeping together, but you still gave my kid some really terrible advice. Let's face it—he wouldn't be in this situation if it weren't for you. _Mr. Hummel's cold tone had stung, but he had been right.

"Where's Kurt?" Blaine shivered as Wes' hands gripped his shoulders.

"Inside," Wes said dismissively, "where we should be."

Blaine cringed as Wes tightly gripped his hand, but he didn't protest. An uncomfortable knot of fear had settled in his stomach exactly four days ago when Finn Hudson had called and screamed at him from St. Rita's emergency room. _You should hear what some of the students at Dalton say about you. Puck told me that he's been cleaning pools up there for a while. He said the Warblers were the most popular kids at your school, and that you were sleeping with that guy that's in charge of your stupid council for solos. _

The accusations hurt more than any bullying he had suffered from at Bollman Prep. Blaine had dated Wes because he was affectionate and nice. Popularity or solos didn't matter, not after everything he had been through at his last school. The only things he'd wanted after leaving Bollman were anonymity and safety. Wes had dragged him out of his shell by force and insisted he'd have so much _more _if he toned down his looks and learned how to make the uniform (and crowd) work for him.

"I'm happy to see you." Wes smiled as they walked into a sparsely decorated kitchen. "I'm not sure how I feel about all those curls, though."

Wes pushed him against the marble counter and kissed his neck. Blaine hated the way his body reacted to the warm, familiar touch even though his mind screamed in a furious rage. The soft hands felt different somehow. He flinched when Wes ripped the collar of his t-shirt and sucked on his collarbone.

"Back to the band shirts?" Wes criticized. "You look better in knit tops. I had no idea you let yourself _go _this much on break."

Apprehension seized Blaine as Wes' pressed his fingers into one of the bruises on his stomach. It amazed him how fast those soft hands turned hard and mean in seconds. Blaine forgot to change when he left the house. His grandfather had been moved into a nursing home due to the vicious progression of Parkinson's disease and his grandmother spent long hours there. A _For Sale _sign hung from their large estate. She would move to a smaller apartment closer to the nursing home so she could be with her husband. Blaine hated losing the house he had spent so much time in as a child, but he had known for a long time that his grandfather's condition would worsen.

The only child his grandparents had was locked away in a private hospital and their grandson was too young and lived too far away to help take care of them. Herbert Anderson hated his in-laws. He would never let his oldest son transfer into a public school so he could help his grandparents. Blaine couldn't talk him into it: he didn't even have his father's personal cell phone number. If he wanted to speak to him, he had to call his secretary and leave a message, or fly to Chicago and make an appointment. The last time he'd shown up unannounced and miserable due to the harassment at Bollman, he had waited three days before his dad had finally showed up.

"Say something," Wes demanded, "You're usually more talkative than this."

"I-I want to make sure Kurt's okay." Blaine winced as Wes' grip tightened again. "I promised his Dad that I would, if I happened to hear from him."

The confession seemed to anger Wes. Blaine knew he shouldn't have said it so bluntly, but he was too nervous and scared to create a believable lie. If Wes could shoot his close friend and walk away from it, he could certainly do the same to Kurt. Scott Lee had gone through six hours of surgery and lived, but he faced a long recovery and probable complications according to the doctors. At least, that's what David had told him. The Lee's were well known throughout Western Ohio's Korean community.

"Downstairs," Wes finally said, "I'll take you down there so you can see him."

Blaine's knees wobbled as he followed Wes down the stairs. Some of the tiled stairs were chipped, but expensive southwestern art décor adorned the stucco walls. Plastic covers and sheets covered every piece of electrical equipment and all of the furniture.

"Who's house is this?" Blaine asked once they reached the basement.

"It belongs to Zhang family," Wes informed him, "they used to live out here during the Ohio winters, but they stopped using it when their youngest son drowned in the pool out back."

"I remember hearing about it," Blaine said awkwardly, "when it happened a few years ago."

"It was sad," Wes said morosely, "but they still won't sell it since it's been in their family for four decades."

"I don't think we should be here," Blaine whispered, "it's not right."

"I knew no one would look for us here," Wes frowned, "besides, it's not like I'm planning on squatting here or anything. We're just using it for a few nights until everything's ready. Then we'll be out of here, and no one will know we were even here."

"W—where are you going?" Blaine held his breath as Wes opened a bedroom door.

"You and I, Blaine," Wes corrected, "we're going to Canada."

The last word seemed to bounce off the pink walls. _He wants me to go to Canada with him. _Blaine paused at the door and fought tears when Wes turned on the light. Blue walls glared under the bright light and a large gecko hung over the large king sized bed. Kurt Hummel slept through their entrance. The younger boy wore black track pants and a plain gray t-shirt. A dark bruise puffed his cheek. Blaine stared at him for a long moment. Kurt's chest rose and fell in a deep, muted rhythm.

"Kurt?"

Blaine waited for a response, but none came.

"He won't be waking up anytime soon," Wes said coldly, "sleeping pills."

"Y—you have to _stop _this," Blaine pleaded; unable to keep the tears from his eyes, "Wes-please just let Kurt go home."

"No," Wes replied, "Not yet. You _know _I didn't start this. Scott and Desmond were going to set me up. I think that if I let Kurt go right now, you wouldn't want to go to Canada with me. I know you're a _coward. _You wouldn't even fly to Chicago and ask your dad to transfer schools until I talked you into it because you were afraid to confront him."

The truth stung, but it wasn't the first time Wes had laid it out for him. Fear and uncertainty always seemed to be with Blaine. He wished he were brave and strong like Kurt. His friend had faced much more than hate speech, cruel practical jokes, and shunning. Kurt had suffered through much worse bullying and survived it with his head held until someone ushered a death threat.

"I-I wouldn't want to go to Canada with you anyways," Blaine announced with false bravado, "I can't run away again, Wes. I did that once—and it didn't solve anything."

Wes crowded him and tugged on his shirt.

"_I love you, _Blaine," Wes declared, "I know you'll come around and see things my way. You always do."

Blaine let out a cry of pain as slender fingers pulled on his hair. Wet lips trailed down his neck and found his collarbone once again. Teeth nipped at his skin. Blaine sucked in an indignant breath.

"Let's go into the other bedroom down here and see what we can do about your hair," Wes said between rough kisses, "and maybe we can find something a little more classy for you to wear. I swear you have the fashion sense of a lemming."

_I hate you. _The words never left Blaine's mouth. For a long time, Wes had been the only boy in his orbit. The Korean community was a mixed bag when it came to being gay. Some were more accepting than others, though it was largely a taboo subject. Blaine's grandparents accepted his sexuality, but his grandmother was not religious and his grandfather had lost what little faith he had after the Korean War. Wes' parents were extremely traditional. While his mother was a pretty, blonde haired white woman, she followed Korean customs and obeyed her husband to a fault. Blaine's father was white and pursued a mixture of two cultures when he married his mother.

The Andersons and the Kims had been friends for many years. Wes had still maintained their friendship even after Blaine was forced out of the closet by his old friends at Bollman. The older boy never showed any romantic interest until Blaine transferred to Dalton Academy. Their relationship started during a night out in Westerville and had continued ever since. Blaine wished he wouldn't have let Wes have so much _control _over everything.

_I let him pressure me into giving him a blowjob on our second date. _Wes had ignored Blaine's reservations and virginal naiveté, but at least he'd returned the favor and offered him a hand job. That night had set the tone of their relationship. They didn't go all the way, but they did everything else before they spent the weekend together during summer break. Blaine did whatever Wes wanted. Usually, Wes ensured his boyfriend enjoyed their sexual activities. Even their romantic weekend in Cleveland had been Wes' idea. Blaine had not been nervous about having sex at that point, but he regretted it now. Wes had been gentle and considerate in their hotel room. He had lied to his grandparents and told them he was going to Lake Havasu for the weekend with some kids he knew in Tucson, and they had believed him. Wes had claimed he was staying with David in Columbus.

In retrospect, it wasn't exactly an equal relationship, but Blaine had been determined to make it work. _I loved him, then. _Kurt Hummel had waltzed into his life wearing an incredibly flamboyant outfit and changed everything. When they went to see Rent at the community theatre, Blaine had finally realized what he was missing out on, and their instant connection left him wanting _more _from a relationship.

"Kurt will sleep like a baby," Wes shrugged as he led him down the hall and into another room. "I think we should enjoy our night together, don't you?"

Blaine bit his lip and followed Wes into a larger bedroom. The walls were a nice shade of purple, and a sun hung on the wall instead of a gecko. Wes disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes. Blaine cried silently on the bed and realized he was in no position to fight with the older boy tonight. Kurt couldn't even stand up at this point, let alone run long distance if he got the chance. Blaine couldn't carry him. Kurt might be awake in a few hours. Maybe he could distract Wes long enough so the other boy could escape from the house and seek help from the neighbors.

"Here," Wes said and tossed a bottle of hair gel onto the bed, "I managed to find some gel for you. I'll see what I can find in the closet. The Zhang's left a lot of their stuff here when they left. I bet Mr. Zhang left some high quality clothes behind."

Colorful tile lined the bathroom walls. Blaine's hands shook and he had to use the counter for support, but he managed to slowly apply the gel into his hair. Eventually the unruly curls slicked back into a poised coif. Wes hollered for him before he had the chance to use the toilet. Blaine stumbled out of the bathroom and stared at the blue collared shirt lying on the bed.

"See, no problem," Wes smiled, "I think you should put it on. Then we can watch a movie. There aren't many choices, but there are a ton of old VHS tapes upstairs."

Blaine nodded and dressed without comment. Wes kissed his neck again as they started to leave the room.

"Much better," he beamed, "I don't like it when you look so scruffy. It makes you look like a hobbit."

"I know," Blaine muttered unhappily, "I'm sorry."

"It's all right." Wes said and led him back up the stairs. "Everyone forgets these things sometimes. I don't mind reminding you every now and then."


	10. Chapter 10

**Part Ten **

The unfamiliar room slowly swam into focus. Kurt Hummel woke with sore muscles, a swollen cheek, and a headache. Something heavy and round rested on his stomach. Once he managed to get a grip on the horrible pounding in his head, he blinked away cobwebs and glanced down. A head of curly black hair lay on his belly and strong arms were wrapped around his waist.

_Blaine. _Kurt grunted and the older boy shifted. Troubled brown eyes peered back at him. The older boy looked absolutely wrecked. Dark circles shadowed his normally bright eyes and a nasty cut split his bottom lip.

"I-I'm sorry," Blaine blurted plaintively, "I'm sorry."

All of the anger flooded out of Kurt's body as soon as the broken, sincere words left his friend's mouth. Blaine scrambled off the bed and stumbled towards a dresser. A tray of orange juice, water, and a plate of food rattled loudly as Blaine set it down on a nearby nightstand.

"A-are you hungry? Thirsty?" Blaine's voice cracked with emotion. "I—I think you should eat something."

"W-where are we?" Kurt asked timidly. "Arizona?"

"Yes," Blaine nodded, "In Sedona. The house belongs to a family that Wes' family knows about—no one uses this place anymore."

"Blaine," Kurt reached for his friend's hand, "What happened to your lip?"

"Wes hit me," Blaine croaked and touched his swollen lip, "We had a fight."

The admission stung. Kurt had no idea how to handle something like this. An odd mixture of emotions tugged at his heart: anger, fear, pity, sorrow, and love. The last one surprised him the most. Kurt loved Blaine despite everything that had happened, but he couldn't quite understand it. Finn's explosion in the basement last spring had crushed any romantic feelings he'd had for him. The way Finn had said _faggy _had hurt more than anything he'd suffered through before, because _Finn was supposed to be different. _When cold, hard reality had set in, Kurt had realized that the Finn he had loved didn't exist. Finn loved acceptance and popularity a lot more than he let on. Once his father had kicked the other boy out of the house, Kurt had crawled into his bed and cried himself to sleep. The tears had been a catharsis: a purification process that had officially ended his crush on Finn.

All of Blaine's masks had been shattered right before his eyes, yet he still loved him. Their friendship had deep roots, something he had never experienced with Finn. Blaine looked completely different now. He was no longer a charming teenager wise beyond his years. Blaine Anderson was just a scared, insecure boy. They weren't so different now.

"I thought it was a teacher," Kurt muttered, "that night when you were upset-I saw some bruises on your back. _I _should have said something."

"Don't say that," Blaine said and plopped down onto the bed, "It was my problem, not yours."

"You helped me when I needed it," Kurt insisted, "I should have helped you."

"Kurt," Blaine leaned on his elbows, "I act like I know what's going on, but I _don't_. I just pretend like I do. I didn't help you at all. I just made things worse-and look what's happened, where we are-this is my entire fault_._"

"Blaine," Kurt sat up and placed his hands on Blaine's shoulders, "You _did _help me."

"How can you even look at me?" Blaine sobbed. "I told you to stand up to your bullies, when I couldn't stand up to my own. I didn't even have it nearly as bad as you had it at McKinley. They called me names, threw things at me, and stole my stuff, but the only time they ever touched me was when they stripped me and left me in a field without any clothes on. I didn't even _try _to get them punished for it. I got on a plane and went to see my Dad. I begged him to let me change schools."

The story poured out of Blaine so quickly that Kurt had trouble processing it. He thought about all of the times the jocks had harassed him and he'd hid from his father, friends, and teachers. The athletes never got in trouble for bullying students unless they targeted someone based on their race or their religion. The jocks knew better than to go after the minorities in the school, but they still slushied girls and harassed Artie if they could get away with it. Kurt had been their favorite target because they _knew _no one except a teacher would discourage any rough treatment.

At least he'd had a father to support him through everything. Even though he didn't tell his dad about all of the bullying he went through on a daily basis, going home to someone that loved him had him handle the worst days. Blaine saw his father once or twice a year at most and his mother couldn't support him due to her mental illness. _No one pushes the Hummels around. _Kurt didn't think he could have handled everything without his dad. Maybe he would have dated someone like Karofsky for protection or tried to hide under layers of flannel or plaid; just like Blaine hid behind charm and wisdom.

"I need you now," Kurt tried again, "don't you get it? We have to get out of here-and away from Wes. You can't stay with him."

"I was gonna break up with him, you know," Blaine informed him as he pulled him into an embrace, "he never used to be violent, but it's just, gotten out of hand, and now he's-out of control."

"Where is he now?" Kurt prodded and wrapped his arms around the older boy. "Why did he leave us alone?"

"He went out," Blaine replied stiffly and trembled, "I'm not sure where-I—he got mad at me."

Kurt wanted to ask about their fight, but instinct told him he should leave it alone for the moment. A need to pee hit his kidneys and he sighed, hesitant to break contact. Blaine breathed heavily and hot tears fell onto his neck.

"I have to pee," he admitted reluctantly, "will you help me up? I've been sleeping too much lately."

His pathetic attempt at dark humor fell flat. Blaine paled even more and instantly helped him out of the bed. Kurt leaned on his friend. A pained grimace twisted the other boy's face.

"What's wrong?" Kurt asked as they stumbled towards the bathroom. "Maybe I should try to go on my own."

"No!" Blaine shouted. "I'm f-fine. I'll help."

They made it to the bathroom without further incident. Kurt could tell the extra weight hurt Blaine, but neither boy acknowledged it. Undressing proved difficult while the drugs still affected his uncooperative limbs. Blaine blushed but gently pulled down Kurt's sweat pants. The skin on skin contact managed to excite him despite the utter inappropriate circumstances. He clamped down on any candid desires and politely told Blaine he could handle it from there.

Kurt relieved himself as Blaine stepped outside and quickly took care of business. The tiles kept changing shape, but he stayed upright, so it was definitely an improvement. Painfully familiar nausea threatened to creep up on him. Cold water helped ease the unpleasant feeling. After several refreshing splashes, Blaine reentered the bathroom and calmly pulled Kurt's pants back up.

"I forgot about that," Kurt blushed, "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Blaine reassured him, "I promise-I promise I'll find a way out of this. I won't let Wes hurt you, Kurt."

"You mean we'll find a way out," Kurt insisted, "I won't let you get hurt either."

Blaine's dark eyes locked with Kurt's blue ones. They stared at each other for a long moment and somehow it was more intimate than anything he'd experienced before. Their vulnerability and passion were right there in front of them and on display for each other to see. Blaine's lips suddenly crashed against his. The kiss surprised him, but he returned it with the same vigor.

Fear, need, and love fueled their kisses. Kurt let Blaine maneuver him back to the bed while they explored each other's mouths. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a tiny voice of reason told him this wasn't the time or place for such an intimate declaration of feelings. Blaine kissed his neck and slender fingers found their way under his hoodie. Kurt whimpered with pleasure as they brushed over his nipples and he arched his back, aching for more contact.

The drugs had impaired his ability to think properly, but they certainly didn't hamper his hormones. Feeling returned to every part of his body more quickly than he anticipated and his legs tingled as Blaine's mouth hovered over his nipples. Hot breath ghosted across the tender skin. Kurt let out a cry once Blaine swirled his tongue and licked him in all the right places.

Blaine abruptly paused and fixed an intense stare on him.

"I love you," Blaine whispered and clutched his hand, "I-we can stop if you want."

"No," Kurt replied sincerely, "I need this."

"It's too fast," Blaine began, "I think-."

Kurt silenced him with a chaste kiss.

"Don't think," he begged, "I just want to do this. We can stop anytime. I want to feel safe again."

Of course, they didn't stop soon enough. Their desperation for safety and warmth ended with Kurt losing his virginity in a strange bedroom. Time drifted away. They ate once their haphazard and awkward first time was over. Blaine's eyes softened every time he looked at him. Kurt smiled as he climbed back into the large bed. The sex had been a bit hurried and zealous, but it had felt _good_. For the first time in days, he ached in a pleasant way. The welts on his back didn't hurt as much anymore. Other places felt stretched out and a little sore, but Blaine had been extremely careful not to hurt him.

Blaine got underneath the covers with him and wrapped his body around Kurt. The other boy drifted into an exhausted sleep. Kurt wasn't tired since he'd slept so much for the last few days, so his mind started to wander. He wondered what Mercedes would think if he told her that he was no longer a virgin. Her obnoxious zebra print shirt came to mind, which made him wish he could call her. Mercedes would want vivid details and she would possibly get grossed out when he divulged too much. She always chided him when he shared too much information.

A part of him knew that the sassy diva would have slapped him and talked him out of sleeping with Blaine. _It's too fast, baby. _Tears welled in his eyes and regret crept up on him. They should have waited; he had wanted his first time to be romantic. The sex had felt pretty good. He knew that much, but it wasn't anything like he'd imagined it would be. _I didn't feel anything. _Finn's description of his own first time haunted him, but at least Kurt had done it with someone he cared about.

The nausea he'd felt earlier returned full force. Kurt bolted out of bed and ran for the bathroom. The dinner he had eaten less than an hour before came up with fury. He kept heaving into the toilet, but nothing else came up. The porcelain bowl cooled his forehead and he focused solely on the sensation. Blaine continued to sleep soundly in the next room, exhaustion and stress claiming his worn out body.

Kurt took several deep breaths and forced himself to calm down. They had done nothing wrong; they loved each other. What they had was special. He remembered the first time he'd seen Blaine on the stairs. So many things could have gone differently. The Warblers might have punished him spying and kicked him out for trespassing, but instead they had invited him for coffee. Blaine had thrown Kurt a lifeline when he'd been drowning.

The faint notes of _Teenage Dream _echoed through his mind and he remembered how happy he had been standing in the commons. Blaine had driven two hours south and helped him confront a dangerous, closeted bully in the middle of a school day. They had seen RENT together and had a disastrous dinner at BreadStix with Mercedes.

Blaine loved him. Kurt wiped his mouth and walked back into the bedroom. The older boy didn't stir as he got under the covers and embraced him. Tears stained his cheeks, but he wasn't so upset anymore that they had gone too far too fast. They had other things to worry about. Wes would be back eventually. They weren't safe as long as they were here. Fear started to eat away at him and he gripped Blaine's arms tighter.

"I love you," he confessed to the silence, "but I just want to go home."


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Thank you for all of the lovely reviews. I am posting the rest of this today. It's one ginormous angst-fest that is now complete! Hooray! Thanks for reading and sticking with me here. :)

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**Part Eleven **

Time crawled by once Blaine Anderson woke from an exhausted sleep. The room remained quiet. Words had left them after they had given into their desires. Nothing else _could_ be said. Blaine curled his body around Kurt and tried not to feel anything except love and warmth. It only worked for a little while. Eventually, guilt crept over the other feelings. _We went too fast. You went too fast. You're older; you should have told him no. _Blaine hugged Kurt tighter and pressed a light, tender kiss to the back of his neck.

Heat radiated from Kurt's lithe body. Panic overwhelmed Blaine as he sat up and searched for signs of a fever. Sweat beaded on Kurt's forehead and each breath came with a light, barely audible wheeze.

"Kurt?" Blaine croaked. "Can you hear me?"

He didn't answer. Blaine scrambled out of the bed and swore as the muscles in his back painfully twitched. The bruises and welts suddenly flared back to life: the sensation sent him careening to the carpeted floor. He cried out in pain and sobbed at the same time. Saying no to Wes had turned out to be an incredibly bad idea. Wes had _all _of the control here, and they both knew it.

_The rooms downstairs had a typical southwestern look to them, though they each sported different colors and art. Blaine eyed the room skeptically for several long seconds as Wes guided him towards the bed. The rounded king bed intimidated him. Wes placed harsh kisses into his neck. Blaine stiffened as his knees hit the comforter. _

"_Stop," he ordered timidly, "stop. I don't want to do this." _

"_W-what?" Wes stopped kissing him. "I want you. Right now." _

"_No," Blaine said firmly, "I—this isn't right, Wes, and you know it. You need to let Kurt go home—and me too. I don't want to go to Canada with you. I'm not going!" _

_Wes' face distorted into anger, but he didn't strike him or push him onto the bed. Perhaps reason had returned to the older teenager. Blaine winced as Wes tightened his grip on his arms. It hurt, but it wasn't unbearable. It reminded him of that afternoon they had shared in a closet, when Wes had shoved him against the wall and whispered sweet nothings in his ears as he pushed Blaine onto his knees. Quick, shuddering breaths permeated the air. _

"_I think I can change your mind." Wes began, deep in thought. "There's no one here except us. We both know that no one will think to look here. We could probably stay here for months without anyone noticing. You know how the neighbors are in this upscale area. They like peace and quiet. Half of them only live down here in the winter and don't know each other at all. They won't notice three teenagers living here before spring. Even if they did suspect something, all I'd have to do is tell them that we're students at the University of Arizona. I could even enroll us, if you wanted. I have some fake ids and plenty of money. All I'd have to do is make some bogus transcripts and financial records. It's easy, if you know what you're doing. I could even get fake social security cards. No one would suspect anything." _

"_N-No," Blaine answered, "it wouldn't work. What would you do about Kurt? He'd never go along with this—he's too attached to his family. People know me here-and they know my family. They'd recognize me." _

"_I don't think you understand this yet," Wes sighed, "Kurt's not leaving anytime soon. He'll stay right where he is. I can make it happen—in fact, I already did. They'll be uselessly searching a mansion in Miami right about now. Scott conveniently left detailed plans on his computer. Of course, he didn't have enough time make it down there, but Desmond did. That's who'll they'll find when they get there. I convinced Desmond that if he met me there, we'd get things settled and talk to the police together. I even promised him that Kurt would be there, safe and sound. I wish I could see the look on Desmond's face when he's arrested."_

_Blaine shivered as Wes finished speaking and felt warm breath brush against his neck. A soft kiss startled him, but he didn't object to the unwanted affection. Wes still had the gun tucked snugly in the back of his jeans. _

"_I see you're starting to get it," Wes said smugly, "we're not leaving anytime soon. I can wait until you come around. Once you're ready to leave the country, I might consider letting Kurt go. He's staying for now—he knows too much. I'll give you some time to think about it. I'm sure a few days locked in a basement might change your mind. I'll give you a choice, Blaine. You can either spend the night with me or you can spend it with Kurt. I doubt he'll be good company, though." _

"_K-Kurt," Blaine spluttered immediately, "I'll spend it there." _

"_I'd thought you'd say that," Wes whispered into his ear, "and I can't say I blame you. I know there's a lot to think about right now. I think you need a little reminder about who's in charge here, though." _

_Wes unbuckled his belt and pushed Blaine onto the bed. _

"_I did this to Kurt earlier," Wes coldly informed him, "you should have heard him scream." _

The welts weren't numerous, but they still hurt like hell. Blaine wished for some ointment or aspirin, or _anything. _Kurt's bruises were hideous and large, which had forced him to lie on his stomach last night. Fortunately, the younger boy had not seen the fresh marks on Blaine's back. They hurt worse this morning than they had last night.

"Blaine?" Kurt's worried voice cut through the pain. "Oh, you're awake. Do you need to go to the bathroom? I don't think you should try to move around so much."

Blaine blinked in confusion as slender arms gently hoisted him upright. Kurt shouldered most of his weight and managed to get him on his feet.

"You're sick," Blaine choked out as the room spun, "I should get you something to drink."

"I'm not sick," Kurt placed his hand on Blaine's forehead, "_you are_. You've been running a fever for-actually, I don't know how long, but it feels like at least a day."

A cool wash rag suddenly pressed against his head. Blaine moaned at the welcome relief. When had it become so _hot _in the basement? He managed to use the toilet on his own, but it took him a while and he nearly lost his footing twice. Kurt had disappeared from the bathroom. Angry voices shouted at one another.

"He's sick," Kurt insisted, "you need to take him to the emergency room."

"If I take him," Wes replied, "then you're staying here—and you won't be conscious for it, understand?"

"Perfectly," Kurt said bitterly, "you've got to keep Blaine under control, _right? _I know you can't do it without _me." _

"Shut up," Wes hissed, "get on the bed, _now, _and don't try anything—I can either give you another sleeping pill or give you a concussion."

Clothes rustled loudly and the bed squeaked as Kurt landed on it. Blaine groggily stumbled out of the bathroom, only to fall face first to the floor. Wes glanced his way, but kept his dark eyes trained on Kurt. He had the younger boy pinned to the bed. Blaine watched in muted horror as he roughly yanked Kurt's arms above his head and tied them to the headboard.

"Just in case," Wes mused, "I don't want you going _anywhere." _

"Fuck you," Kurt spat and winced, "just make sure he gets to a hospital."

"You know," Wes paused, "I was thinking—maybe I shouldn't drug you. I could just leave you here; how long do you think it would be before the ropes caused you some nerve damage? I bet if I tied them just right—you couldn't use your fingers for days."

"_No!" _Blaine shouted; it sounded like a whisper. "Don't hurt him, _please._"

"I guess it's the sleeping pills after all," Wes feigned regret, "I'll get them out."

Wes reached into his pocket and pulled out a little plastic bag. White pills lined the bottom of the bag. Blaine couldn't see Kurt's face from the floor, but he _could _hear his muffled cries.

"Please, I don't want any more of those," Kurt pleaded, "I can't think properly as it is-and they make me sick to my stomach. I'll be good."

"Too bad," Wes replied, "maybe you if you showed me a little more respect, then I'd be more lenient. I don't _like _you, remember?"

Tears rand down Blaine's cheeks as Wes forced two pills down Kurt's throat. Loud sobs drowned out the whispered complaint. Wes ignored Kurt's cries and got off the bed. The room tilted and wavered as Wes picked him up off the floor and slowly started walking towards the door. Blaine tried fighting him, but the older boy just sighed and yanked him into the hallway. Kurt's blue eyes followed them as they went. He had no succumbed to sleep yet. Blaine reached for his hand and belatedly realized the ropes were still wrapped around Kurt's wrists.

The door slammed shut with angry, brute force. They struggled up the staircase. Blaine swayed after every step. The house was too hot: sweat dripped off his body as strong hands guided him along.

"I don't understand why you're sick," Wes muttered worriedly, "all you have are a few bumps and scrapes."

"S-stress," Blaine suggested, "I haven't slept since Finn called. Too stressed to eat—just _too worried _to do anything—did you know that you can get Shingles from stress?"

"Blaine," Wes bit out, "were you around anyone recently that _had _Shingles?"

Blaine thought about it for a while, but the _heat _made it difficult to think. It was too hot.

"I'm hot," Blaine said, "I want to lie down."

"You can lie down in the car," Wes answered, "right here in the back. That way you can stretch out."

"Okay." Blaine agreed as he collapsed onto an old afghan blanket in the back of an unfamiliar SUV. "I think we should sing _Bills, Bills, Bills, _for Regionals. It's the perfect song for an Acapella group."

The song would mesh perfectly with their tight vocals. Some of the dancers had complained about their basic, simple dance moves and petitioned the council to let them spice things up for Regionals.

"New Directions has great dancers," Blaine said once the engine died down, "who knew that Mike Chang could dance like that-you could see his abs through his shirt!"

"I don't understand it," Wes complained from the driver's seat, "Mike's parents are traditional-just like mine. They let _him _dance and play football. I could never be a dancer."

"Mike just refused to quit," Blaine recalled fondly, "He convinced them that dancing could lead to a lucrative career—I heard he gave them a presentation and even drew a flow chart. His friend Matt said he should go for it."

"I guess I should have thought of that," Wes babbled, "It doesn't matter now. I'm going to take some once I get to Canada-maybe I'll meet someone else. Think I could find someone that looks like you?"

"Why do you need that?" Blaine puzzled. "I'm right here."

A tire found a particularly deep pothole and jarred the vehicle. Blaine grimaced as the jolt hit his back. The world grayed out. He fell into a light doze, but the car felt hotter than that house they had been in. Sometimes a sudden bump hurt his muscles and woke him. His back ached terribly.

Eventually, the car stopped and bright lights filled Blaine's vision. Unfamiliar faces loomed over him. The white hallways moved. Voices and machinery blended together in an obnoxious cacophony. Words like _hyperesthesia__, high fever, _and _rash _were tossed around as strangers poked and prodded him. Someone asked for his name, while strange hands searched his pockets. Blaine mumbled something unintelligible in response.

The numbers leapt at him from above: _Six Nine One Four. _Kurt's terrified face drifted across his imagination. Blaine grabbed someone's hands and begged them to help him.

"Help who?" A concerned woman in blue scrubs pressed. "Who needs help? Jesus; _look _at this kid, he's black and blue."

Fire scorched Blaine's throat and speaking seemed impossible, so he stole a pen from a nearby nurse. Four letters appeared on the crisp, paper sheet that shielded the metal table from germs: _KURT. _Someone to the left asked him for a last name. Blaine fought to remember. Machines whirred around the room. Eventually, he managed to scribble down a barely discernable surname: _HUMMEL. _

"Wait," a female Asian doctor interrupted, "does he mean the same _Kurt Hummel _that was abducted from Ohio a few days ago?"

"How do you know about that?" A male voice asked from the side. "Wait—you mean that gay kid that's been all over the news?"

"Yeah," a second woman agreed, "that's his name. Kurt Hummel. I saw all those pictures of him on the news—and that interview with his dad—you should have seen it. This guy was a mechanic—the big, burly type—and he started crying right there on national television! Even that mohawked kid they interviewed in the hospital cried! We need to get those cops you called in here _immediately._"

"Help him," Blaine muttered as someone injected him with a needle, "I love him."

"We'll do our best," the Asian woman promised, "but we need to get your fever down. You're dehydrated. This is just some fluid to help bring your temperature down."

All of the white started fading into black. Blaine groaned and let the dark claim him.

* * *

**Part Twelve **

A steady stream of beeping and a warm voice greeted Blaine Anderson as consciousness returned. Soft, wrinkled hands stroked his forehead and murmured soothing melodies. An oxygen tube snaked around his head while an IV line delivered important fluids and drugs into his bloodstream. The hospital room reeked from the pungent stench of antiseptic and sterilized medical equipment. Dim lighting made it easier to see, but it didn't help the pounding in his head.

"Shh," Hazel Bolisay whispered as she pressed a cup to her grandson's dry lips, "have some ice chips. They will help your throat."

Blaine grunted in pain and greedily crunched on the small ice cubes. Everything hurt. His arms itched horribly. A dull ache persisted in his left side. The room felt hot and stifling.

"I called the nurse," Hazel informed him, "I think it's time for some more medicine, yes?"

The room faded away again. Blaine drifted somewhere between consciousness and drug induced sleep. The haze lingered for a while. A quiet conversation broke through the welcomed halcyon.

"Promise me you will look out for him while I am away?" Hazel asked as she stood to leave. "I must go and see my husband."

"Of course I'll take care of him." Kurt's hoarse voice hovered somewhere above him. "I—what's going to happen now? I mean, with Blaine?"

"I know you are good friends," the elderly woman acknowledged affectionately, "and I know my grandson cares about you. He talks about you quite a bit. You seem like a nice boy-a _good _boy. I think you probably want the truth, yes?"

"Yes," Kurt hedged quietly, "I think I'd rather hear the truth."

"I'm eighty-two years old," Hazel sighed tiredly, "my husband is sick. I can't even look after my own house anymore. He needs a lot of care—and I want to be close to him. Blaine has always been welcomed in our home. _Always. _He'll still be welcomed, whenever he wants to come for a visit. I can't take care of a sick boy and my husband at the same time, Kurt."

"You have to choose," Kurt sounded choked up, "and you're choosing your husband."

"Yes," Hazel cried, "I am. Mitchell has no one to look out for him. I hate to leave Blaine at the mercy of his father, but as much as the man may hate me, he's always made sure his son has what he needs."

"I understand," Kurt said somberly, "will he stay at Dalton?"

"I doubt it," Hazel confessed and squeezed his shoulder, "considering everything that's come to light. I'm not sure where he'll send him next. I'm sorry."

"Thank you for telling me the truth," Kurt watched her leave with a pinched expression on his fine features, "maybe I can figure out what to do."

Sniffles reached Blaine's ears and after a few prolonged minutes, he saw tears running down Kurt's face. A deep purple bruise expanded across the younger boy's cheek. Blaine felt soft fingers grip his hand and smiled. The blue hospital scrubs loosely hung off his friend's limbs.

"W-what happened?" Blaine croaked. "Did Wes hurt you again?"

"N-No," Kurt answered, "actually, he came back to the house. I was pretty out of it by then, but oddly enough he apologized—and untied the ropes. I couldn't really move on my own. I'm told that he called the police and told them where I was."

"Where is he?" Blaine asked as he crunched down some more ice chips. "I'm _hot._"

"Gone." Kurt gazed at a number somewhere above his head. "You're still running a fever. The doctors are trying to bring it down lower."

"Shingles," Blaine affirmed, "my grandma had Shingles."

"You don't have Shingles, Blaine," Kurt corrected him softly; "you cracked a rib. From what I understand, your lower rib cracked, which caused some damage to your diaphragm. I _think _the doctors said that's why you're running a fever."

"I'm not running away to Canada," Blaine promised, "I think you'd sound great singing a Beatles song. Mercedes told me that you once sang _I Want to Hold Your Hand _for your old glee club. Maybe you could sing something for Regionals."

"Maybe." Kurt mumbled as he rearranged the blankets covering Blaine's legs. "I don't know how much longer I can stay with you. My dad will be here tomorrow-they booked a flight. He was pretty upset when I called him a few hours ago."

"I don't want you to leave," Blaine announced sleepily, "I want to you sing. Please?"

"Okay," Kurt pressed a warm kiss to his forehead, "whatever you want."

"Beatles," Blaine decided after a moment, "_If I Fell._"

Kurt released a shaky breath and began to sing. Blaine listened as a beautiful melody drowned out the persistent beeping above his head.

The hospital room faded in an out. Sometimes doctors and nurses hung around Blaine's bed and threw confusing medical terms at one another. Hazel frequently appeared with them and asked heartbroken questions when she didn't understand what they said. Every time he searched for Kurt, someone would sigh and say his _boyfriend _would be back soon. Blaine patiently watched the door and waited for him to appear whenever he could keep his eyes open long enough to miss his presence.

A small portable iPod speaker had been left beside his bed and sometimes the nurses would select a playlist or a particular artist if he asked nicely enough. The blond haired nurse that covered the evening shift didn't seem to like him very much, and she would always turn it off. Blaine pressed _play _anyways and let her know that he wanted the music on, but she just glared at him and switched it off again.

No one else came to visit. Eventually, the word _surgery _reached his ears and a whole new type of fear settled in. Blaine didn't really understand why they wanted to do it. The doctors said something about a hernia, but he couldn't be sure. All of the drugs flowing through his veins made it challenging to think. Surgery sounded painful and recovery would take _forever. _He understood that much. When one of the doctors mentioned repairing his diaphragm, Blaine cried because he _knew _it meant he might never be able to sing again.

The surgery got scheduled after a large bouquet of flowers arrived. At first, Blaine thought they were from the Warblers, but a cheerful _Get Well Soon _card had signatures all over it from every member of New Directions. A girl named Brittney had even left a rain-bowed colored note saying: _ Congratulations on your new boobs! _Everyone else had just signed well wishes. Actually reading the notes proved difficult due to the permanent haze around his vision, but he could make out all of the signatures if he focused all of his concentration on them.

Once the first bouquet came, a few others followed it. He got a vase of Lilies from David. None of the other Warblers sent him flowers or cards. Blaine got some expensive chocolates and a large wad of cash from his stepmother. A neat, simple message read: _I would come for a visit if I could, but I am swamped with planning the biggest celebrity wedding of the year. I'm sorry we haven't been closer. Perhaps you could use this money to treat yourself to something nice. If you need any more money, don't hesitate to ask. I'm quite generous. Love, Melanie. _

One of Blaine's former step-siblings mailed him a pair of diamond stud earrings. Even his _ex-_stepmothers were gracious enough to send some gifts. Diana knew he liked the theater and bought him season tickets for several New York City theaters. It didn't matter that he hadn't been to New York in years. He appreciated the thoughtful gift.

Anna was the only ex-wife that actually _called_ him, and she had been married to his father for a grand total of nine months. Blaine had never really known her very well. When she asked what kind gift he'd like, he decided it couldn't hurt to be honest with the fitness queen. _I'd like you to come for a visit. It'd be nice to have a visitor instead of a gift. _She didn't live far: San Diego was only a six hour drive from Tucson.

Two days before Blaine's surgery a red-haired kid with blue eyes and a wiry figure showed up. The guy had just sighed and confessed his Aunt had paid him to come and visit. Blaine didn't mind: the company helped ease the constant fear and pain. Carson turned out to be quite nice and even brought him the newest edition of _Vogue. _Blaine asked him to read it. Carson majored in theater at the University of Arizona and had a girlfriend named Tess. She came for a visit the next day and dumped an armload of books on a nearby table. Blaine liked her; she had a thick English accent and majored in Art.

Kurt started calling him every night at one in the morning, but Blaine didn't mind losing sleep to talk to his _boyfriend. _Sometimes he fell asleep during their conversations. Staying awake for long periods of time wasn't exactly standard practice at the moment. The night before his surgery, Blaine acknowledged his terror.

"You'll be here tomorrow, right?" Blaine knew it sounded more like a plea than a request. "I don't want to be _alone _when they put me under-or when I wake up. My grandma's not handling all this stress well. She's sick."

"I'll be there," Kurt promised hesitantly, "somehow. I'll figure it out."

"Thanks," Blaine sighed with relief, "I knew I could count on you, Kurt. _I love you._"

"I love you too," Kurt whispered into the phone, "I'll be there."

Blaine wanted to ask why his boyfriend always insisted on whispering during their late night conversations, but he fell asleep before he had the chance to ask.

Morning arrived too quickly. The sun climbed over the horizon and warmed the desert to a pleasant fifty degrees. Blaine tensed every time a nurse or a doctor walked into his room. They discussed _post-operation _procedures with him and talked about physical therapy. His grandmother showed up a few hours later and silently held his shaking hands.

When the surgery team came to prep him, tears finally leaked out of his eyes. Hazel tried her best to sooth him. Blaine asked for Kurt, but she gently told him that his friend had to stay in Ohio. The news shattered what little resolve he had left. _He promised. _The sobs didn't dissipate as two nurses and an orderly wheeled Blaine down the hallways to the elevators.

"Wait!" The familiar, high-pitched protest broke through Blaine's sorrow. "I came as fast as I could—but I need to go down there with him."

"Kurt," Blaine choked out between tears, "_you came_."

"I promised, didn't I?" Kurt smiled as he gripped Blaine's hand. "I made it."

"I don't think you're _supposed _to be here," Hazel muttered, "I believe your father may be quite displeased about this."

"He might ground me for life," Kurt agreed, "or possibly murder me and bury my body somewhere—but I left him and Carole a note. I'm sure he'll be on the next flight out."

"Thank you for coming," Hazel sighed and coughed twice, "I know he needed you."

Blaine grunted in agreement as he clutched Kurt's hand. The trip downstairs to the operating room didn't take long. The doctors pushed him into a room. Kurt and his grandma waited _right _outside. The thought comforted Blaine as a nurse slid a needle into his IV line. Surgery didn't seem quite as frightening as it had twenty minutes ago.

Blaine barely registered his time in the recovery room, but he _did _remember Kurt faithfully holding his hand. The trip back upstairs blurred into a narcoleptic slumber. His grandmother left for the night. Kurt slept on a cot beside his bed. Blaine slept deeply for a long time. When awareness finally returned and the doctors introduced lighter drugs into his system, he heard an argument nearby.

Kurt gripped his hand and steadfastly refused to leave even though a tall, burly man in a red baseball cap insisted on it. Blaine feigned sleep and eavesdropped on their rather tumultuous conversation.

"Dad, you don't get it," Kurt alleged savagely, "Blaine's _situation _wasn't all that different from my own. Wes might be richer, cuter, and better educated than Dave Karofsky, but he was still a bully. You should have _heard _or even _seen _the way he was towards other students at Dalton. He constantly criticized people for every little thing. He manipulated his friends and even teachers to get what he wanted. Wes pressured Blaine for sex and used his status at school to do it. All Blaine wanted was to forget his last school and fit in. It's no different than what Karofsky did to me!"

"It _is _different, Kurt," Burt Hummel insisted as he paced the small space, "that kid let someone push him around until he ended up in the hospital. Blaine should have gone to the faculty; they would have helped him! He put _you _in danger because he's a fucking coward! Besides—I'm pretty sure that Karofsky kid didn't want to have sex with you!"

Blaine flinched at the harsh words, but he didn't interrupt their argument. Burt Hummel was right. Blaine _was _a coward. Wes had terrorized him into keeping quiet and continuing their dysfunctional relationship. He didn't deserve someone as strong, brave, and _good_ as Kurt.

"Yes he did," Kurt spat in a strained tone, "Karofsky's _gay, _Dad. When I confronted him at school about his bullying-he _kissed _me. I pushed him away and he left, but he didn't stop harassing me. It only made things _worse. _He shoved me into lockers, lurked around corners, winked at me. When you and Carole came to school and announced your engagement—do you know what he did to me that afternoon? He fucking cornered me in the parking lot and _groped _me!"

Kurt had burst into tears by the time he finished the passionate confession. Blaine blinked in horror, because he had never heard about that encounter in the parking lot. All of the fight seemed to leave Burt at that moment. The mechanic deflated and sank into an uncomfortable chair on the other side of the room.

"Jesus, Kurt," Burt tugged the hat over his eyes, "why didn't you _tell _me about that?"

"Because I didn't think you'd believe me," Kurt cried, "between what happened with Finn last year and the whole duets thing with Sam—and you told me I already stressed you out; I didn't want to add to that stress—especially not after your heart attack."

"Oh _my god, _honey." A chestnut haired woman stood in the doorway. "You shouldn't have kept something like that a secret."

Finn Hudson flanked the older woman. He had a horrified look on his face and awkwardly stared at his stepbrother. Blaine peered at them from the bed and stayed perfectly still; he didn't want to disturb their touching family moment.

"_Dude,_" Finn yelled from across the room, "I can't believe you'd let him get away with that!"

"I could have ended up just like Blaine," Kurt continued after a long pause, "maybe if Karofsky had pushed me enough—pressured me into a relationship in exchange for protection-and I might have given in, if it went on long enough. He already controlled so _much _of my life, Dad! I started being late for every class so I didn't have to see him in the halls. I avoided my locker. I lied to you about studying in the library after school. Do you know what I was really doing? I hid from Karofsky and waited for him to make his daily fast food run. _Then _I left and went home, where I locked the doors and then double checked that I locked them!"

"Stop," Burt pleaded, "_God. _I—I think we should talk about this—but later—like Carole said."

"When everyone's had a chance to calm down," Carole placed a comforting hand on her husband's shoulder, "Hazel is letting us stay in her beautiful home while we're here. We should get settled in and figure out what we're going to do."

"We're going back to Ohio," Burt glared, "you're not staying in Arizona, Kurt. You can't just take off like that."

"I made him come," Blaine suddenly interjected; unwilling to lose his boyfriend again, "I made him promise. Please don't take him away again."

The quiet, hoarse request fell on sympathetic ears. Burt agreed to let Kurt stay for now. Blaine sighed with relief and held his boyfriend's hand too tightly. Burt rapidly flew out of the room and disappeared down the hallway without saying a word to his son. Kurt thanked Carole and hugged her affectionately. Finn lingered for a moment.

"I wanted to let you know that everyone in Lima hopes you get better," Finn started, "and you've got a place in New Directions if you want. Oh—I also have a letter from Puck. He says he's sorry."

Blaine frowned at him in confusion and took the letter. Kurt glared daggers at his stepbrother and practically threw the tall teen out the door. The younger boy slumped into a chair beside Blaine's bed.

"Kurt," he treaded carefully, "what did Finn mean by that?"

"I can't believe no one's told you yet," Kurt mumbled uncomfortably, "you've been expelled from Dalton Academy."

* * *

**Part Thirteen **

Dalton Academy expelled students that broke the private school's revered honor code. Technically speaking, Blaine Anderson had violated the code when he failed to report Wesley Kim's offer for solos and social status in exchange for sexual favors. The stern letter from Dean Winters informed him that the administration had stripped Blaine of every academic and athletic honor he'd earned there. Reading through the entire thing left him in tears and by the end of it he regretted asking his grandma for it.

As Blaine recovered from the physical strain of surgery and worked tirelessly at accomplishing every goal the physical therapist had for him, he considered his future and tried to forget the past. New Year's passed without much fanfare. He'd spent Christmas too doped up on morphine to even notice the bright, colorful lights adorning houses close to the hospital. Kurt and Finn celebrated New Year's Eve with him. They had smuggled in a champagne bottle and cheap plastic glasses so they could toast at midnight.

Burt Hummel never visited again, but he didn't ban his son from spending hours on end at the hospital. Carole stopped by on several occasions for incredibly awkward and very brief chats. Finn announced boredom after three trips to the mall and two trips up to Sabino Canyon with his parents. The tall football player decided vacationing in the desert wasn't fun and convinced Blaine to purchase a Wii for his hospital room. Blaine handed him the large wad of cash Melanie had sent and instructed him to go crazy.

Finn had actually cheered and declared him _'The best friend ever!' _Blaine ended up playing hours of video games with his visitors for the next two days. Eventually, the two teenagers admitted that they would be leaving Sunday night since the spring semester at McKinley started Monday morning. His grandmother had gushed over her wonderful house guests and invited them back _any time. _Blaine suspected she liked having the extra company.

Their departure left a cold, lonely ache behind. He had six more weeks of intensive physical therapy and watched way too much terrible daytime television when he wasn't being slowly tortured to death. The following days passed in a mindless haze. Blaine relocated to HealthSouth and suffered through painful, numbing rehab exercises alone. The staff wouldn't let him have the Wii inside his room because it might disturb the other patients. Blaine talked Carson and his girlfriend (Rochelle) into taking it.

The college students were nice enough to visit the campus library and brought him books to read. Blaine caught on up his summer reading list he never quite got around to last year. His grandma usually stopped by during the designated visiting hours. They ate too much Halo-halo and watched old musicals. Sometimes she would update him on his grandfather's condition.

Hazel usually cooked him food and brought the newest round of magazines. Blaine pawed through every available magazine in the store. It didn't matter that he had no interest in fishing, rock climbing, home décor, or women's health. Glossy pictures full of happy, smiling people reminded him that life existed beyond the hospital's boring white walls. He devoured every topic under the sun and even turned to reading articles in _Weekly World News. _Reading kept him sane during the tedious days.

The mail stopped coming after Blaine opened up a _Get Well Soon _card and found a nasty note inside of it: _We're disqualified for Regionals. SLUT. _ He had ripped it up in quiet fury and earned a concerned look from his grandmother. Hazel never asked him what it had said and he didn't tell her it was from the Warblers. The day it came he had called Kurt in tears. Blaine had pleaded with his boyfriend to apologize to the Acapella group on his behalf, but Kurt refused. _You shouldn't apologize to people that insult you, Blaine. You don't deserve that kind of treatment. _

Long conversations with Kurt and Mercedes helped ease some of Blaine's boredom. They called him in the evenings after school ended. Blaine liked to put them on speaker and pretended the two teenagers were standing beside his bed. The calls lasted for hours. Sometimes other kids from New Directions called him. Blaine didn't know who had told them to call, but he suspected Finn had said something about his lack of visitors. Everyone asked him how he was doing and when he'd get out of the hospital.

Brittney had once asked him why he needed physical therapy for his boobs. Blaine had simply explained that he didn't get implants, he' had surgery on his diaphragm. The entire conversation had deteriorated into a confused mess because Brittney had thought his diaphragm had gotten stuck in his nether regions, and _that's why _he needed surgery. A Latina girl named Santana had tried to salvage that bizarre phone call and reassured her extremely bewildered friend that Blaine was not transgendered nor a space alien.

Carson and Rochelle stopped by occasionally when they weren't swamped with too much homework or other collegian obligations. January ebbed into February. Blaine watched other patients on the floor come and go. Some had even longer stays than he did and got scheduled for _months. _The staff chastised him when he wandered through the deserted corridors on his own late at night. Physical therapy still hurt, but it got a little easier with each passing day. Blaine no longer had to stay in his bed all the time and took advantage of every opportunity he had to walk around.

In mid-February, Blaine got to go outside and practically hyperventilated when an orderly finally wheeled him outdoors. The warm desert sunshine felt magical. He sat on a wooden bench and watched hummingbirds drink from a nearby water fountain. The foothills had turned brown and waited patiently for spring showers to revitalize their vibrant colors. He stayed there for hours until one of the nurses came down to get him.

Two days after Valentine's Day a thin, blond haired woman with green eyes swung by Blaine's room. Her stylish black high heels clicked loudly against the tiled floor and a leather brief case hung from her slender shoulders. She sat down without introducing herself and pulled out a white three ring binder that had _Blaine Anderson _printedon the front of it.

"You're from my dad's office, right?" He ventured after a moment. "What happened to Sarah? I thought she was still there?"

"She got married and then she got pregnant," the blond shrugged, "I thought everyone knew about that."

"No one told me," Blaine whined unhappily, "I thought she was my friend. Why wouldn't she just call me?"

"I'm not like Sarah," she informed him coldly, "I may not be the warmest person on earth, but I figure it's better to be honest with people than to lie about it. I don't know you, kid-I know _nothing _about you. All I know is that your father instructed me to set you up in a new school and make sure you had everything you needed. I'm not going to sit here and lie to your face-_pretend _that I have some interest in my boss' kid."

The blond pulled out her iPhone and tapped on a screen. A voicemail message popped up.

"Hey, Kate," Sarah's bubbly voice drifted out of the speaker, "I got your message. Don't panic. Getting stuck with Blaine isn't all that bad-just pretend to be his friend and he'll do whatever you ask. He's easier to handle that way; just pretend it's like dealing with a clingy boyfriend you're about to dump."

Blaine grimaced at the message, but he couldn't say it surprised him. Sarah had always been nice—much nicer than any of the other secretaries he had to face over the years. His father kept them overloaded with work and paid them well to take care of various tasks. Most burned out after a few months. The ones that could keep up with the rigorous schedule usually got promoted to another department or made executive assistant. Blaine never saw those assistants; they had to practically shadow their boss and didn't have time to leave was no different than the others: she was just a better actress.

Kate opened the folder and read over his information for a tense moment.

"I've always wanted to see what's in there," Blaine started quietly, "but none of the other women would let me. Will you?"

"Are you sure want to?" Kate frowned. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen," Blaine replied, "I'd like a look."

"I guess it shouldn't be too shocking," Kate conceded as she passed him the binder, "but you shouldn't take anything personally. No one really knew you all that well."

The folder only made an appearance in his life when something major happened. Blaine had never even knew it existed until he was fifteen and desperate to escape Bollman Preparatory. Some old school photographs had been shoved into the first folder. The next folder had an interesting list inside for the secretaries:

_1.__Be nice. _

_2.__If you want to keep your job, do not mention his mother—at all. To Heath or Blaine. _

_3.__Blaine wants friends. You have access to bank accounts. Make it happen. Do you want to spend Fourth of July at an amusement park in a fly-over state like Ohio? _

_4.__Don't forget his birthday. One unfortunate soul was stupid enough to do so and she now works at McDonalds. She's thirty-nine and college educated. _

_5.__Schedule summer camps ahead of time. Blaine will get pissy at you if he thinks there's some chance he might get to spend the summer with his grandparents. Heath will fire your ass if that happens. Don't forget to read the folder labeled 'The Bolisays'. It may save your job. _

_6.__If Blaine calls and asks for his father, put him on hold until he hangs up or send him to voicemail, or just lie and say he's out of the country. You like your paycheck, right? _

_7.__Make sure Blaine has lots of extra spending money. He's got his own bank accounts—which you are in charge of. Monitor closely and read the section on regarding personal finances. You don't want to lose your job, do you? _

_8.__No matter what Hazel says, Blaine is only allowed to stay in Tucson for a certain amount of- strictly enforced and designated-time. Again, make sure you read that Bolisay folder. There are legal documents in there you need to know about. Custody is a tricky thing and Heath expects you to know about that. _

_9.__Do not let Blaine show up unannounced. It's your job to know his status. DO NOT—I repeat—DO NOT—get distracted by a boyfriend or a kid or anything and let him turn into a miserable mess. Do you want to move to Serbia? _

_10.__Blaine is gay and sings. Center all gifts on those two things, and he'll love you forever. _

The list went on and disclosed a lot of details about his life. Blaine stopped looking at it once he got to line twenty and passed it back to Kate. The custody part didn't surprise him; he could _remember _the vicious court battle between his grandparents and father. Love and earnest pleading couldn't compete against billions of dollars. Everything else felt so _cold. _Sarah and the other secretaries hadn't cared about him: they had just wanted to keep their jobs. Some notes and tips were nicer than others.

Kate watched Blaine wearily and took the folder without comment.

"You've got a few choices here, Blaine," Kate began solemnly; "I have to figure out where you're going from here. You know you can't stay in Tucson. So you tell me where you want to go, and I'll sell it to your dad."

Blaine blinked at her through newly formed tears. No one had ever asked him that before. A hundred options whirled around his mind. New York had Broadway, countless music venues, a million different cultures, pizza (_real pizza_), and a vibrant gay community. New Yorkers were too busy and stressed out to care about other people's sexuality.

Other cities had just as much appeal. San Francisco had a liberal attitude and Berkley. Los Angeles had warmer temperatures. Status mattered there (as it did _everywhere_) and people would recognize his name. San Diego had a quieter feel to it than Los Angeles and offered lovely Spanish architecture. The schools in California had outside _everything; _he could swim in sunshine and a sea of available gay boys.

A dozen different places popped onto Blaine's mental list: Miami, Portland, Seattle, Denver, and Las Vegas. The only problem with choosing those cities was the sole fact that he would be utterly alone when he got there. Ohio had its own unique mixture of interesting people and places. Columbus was known throughout the Midwest as an incredibly gay friendly city. Lots of gay couples chose to relocate there if they came from more rural parts of the region.

"I want to stay in Ohio," Blaine decided, "specifically; I want to go to Lima."

"You can go anywhere in the country," Kate's perfect blond eyebrow rose, "and you want stay in Ohio. I might be a fantastic sales woman—my record speaks for itself—but what exactly am I supposed to tell your dad? That you want to stay in Ohio because of your boyfriend?"

"How do you know my boyfriend lives in Lima?" Blaine queried prissily, "Do you even know his name?"

"Kurt Hummel, sixteen, countertenor," Kate listed unenthusiastically, "I could rattle off his address, if you like."

"You know Kurt's address?" Blaine couldn't quite believe it. "How?"

"Background check," she explained and flipped through the folder, "your father requested it when you went missing. Give me one legitimate reason to send you to McKinley, and I'll do my best to sell it."

"The Cheerleading team wins nationals every year," Blaine spluttered, "I could join the Cheerios when I get there."

"Have you ever even done a routine?" Kate sent him a puzzled look. "I used to be a cheerleader in high school. It's not as easy as everyone thinks it is."

"No," Blaine admitted, "but I'm sure I can get on the team. I've done competitive sports most of my life."

"All right," Kate agreed, "I'll give it my best shot. You had better be Valedictorian. You know how your father feels about public education."

"Actually, I don't know," Blaine shrugged, "but from what I gather from outside sources, my recent scandal has caused some major heartache within the Korean community. I'm sure it's cost him some _very _high profile clients. He might not care anymore if I graduate with the huddled masses."

* * *

**Part Fourteen (Final) **

Blaine Anderson left HealthSouth on a sunny Wednesday afternoon and headed for the airport in a cab. Hazel's house had sold right after Blaine started singing again. It still hurt a little to hit high and low notes, but he managed to stay in tune most of the time. Tucson's spring arrived with eighty degree temperatures and too much rain. Flash floods had plagued the city for the past week. Blaine could still smell the sweet desert flowers when he climbed onto the plane.

Hazel cried and promised to send him some tightly packed, frozen cartons of Pinipig cookies. Blaine hugged her goodbye and wiped tears from his eyes as the plane took off. Her cough had worsened into walking pneumonia. The doctors feared further, more profound illness down the line. During the flight east he worried she wouldn't live past the hot summer months.

Wes haunted his dreams and touched him in his sleep. Sometimes Blaine woke up hard and aching. He spent the red eye flight out of Denver playing on his new iPad, too afraid to sleep. The dreams weren't always bad. Kurt seemed to drift into his dreams whenever he was in pain from pushing his muscles so hard they throbbed with vengeance. The younger boy planted sweet kisses onto his lips and soothed away sore ribs.

The phone calls started dying down once the doctors decided on a release date. Blaine still got calls from Kurt, but they weren't as long as they had been before. The sophomore returned to McKinley and resumed his routine there with a strong support system. Finn stuck to him like glue. Puck had fallen in love with some girl that wrestled boys and together they created a human shield against any potential bullies.

At some point during his long hospital stay, a coach made the football players join the glee club to help them settle all of the tension between the two groups. Kurt had steadfastly refused to go to glee rehearsal that week. Blaine talked to him a lot during those trying days, but the coach's idea had actually worked and the football players stopped harassing the glee kids.

Finn had become some kind of sports hero at school. Most of the bullies backed off Kurt to stay on his brother's good side. Blaine had heard how happy he'd been when no one threw slushies at him for an entire week. The constant calls and text messages were less frequent after Kurt's remarkable, fabulous first week at McKinley. Blaine didn't mind: his boyfriend had a busy life. He couldn't spend every moment talking to a kid trapped inside a hospital.

The loneliness never quite went away. Wes had always wanted to be around him and do everything with Blaine, unless he was with his family or girlfriend. The attention had been nice. Kurt seemed a little distant these days. Blaine had tried talking about their passionate night in the basement, but his boyfriend would change the subject or make an excuse about homework and hang up. He knew they needed to _talk_. Their relationship could burn out if they tried to ignore it.

Dayton International Airport lacked a crowd at six o'clock in the morning. Blaine got off the plane and fetched his luggage without hassle. Once he left the baggage claim he saw a petite Latina woman holding a sign that had _BLAINE ANDERSON _scrawled across the front. He pretended not to notice the stares the cardboard lettering earned him and stomped towards her.

"I'm Blaine," he greeted; "I don't think the sign is necessary anymore."

"I am Alida Lopez," the middle aged woman replied, "I will be your _ama de casa_ here in Lima."

"It is early," Alida began as he followed her through the airport, "I will take you to your condo and make you breakfast. Do you like _huevos rancheros_?"

Blaine simply shrugged and hauled his luggage behind her: Kate must have given her a list of his favorite foods. Arizona had real, authentic Mexican food that put most Ohio versions to shame. Alida drove a compact Ford Focus and they had some trouble shoving his cumbersome suitcases into the trunk and back seat.

Dayton was an hour from Lima. The sun climbed over the horizon and lit up a green, lush Midwestern landscape. Recent snowfalls and freezing rain had caused some flowers to bloom early. The grass had started to turn green again. Excitement built up inside Blaine as they journeyed north up Interstate 75. The temperatures stayed in the mid-fifties (typical for March). Maybe he could surprise Kurt with an unexpected blow job: _that _would surely get him talking about sex again.

Alida floored it and dodged rush hour traffic like a professional race car driver. Blaine practically bounced in his seat as the little Ford finally crossed into Lima city limits. The condo was in a nice, moderately priced complex. He pawed through the pamphlet Alida had handed him earlier and read through some of the amenities. The complex had an indoor pool, hot tub, exercise room, and club houses. Kate had rented him a two bedroom corner condo on the ground floor: a coveted spot.

Blaine examined his new home with a critical eye. The furniture smelled new and looked expensive. Several designer pieces had been strategically placed in the living room. An expensive oak table with wooden chairs sat in the small dining room. A large plasma television hung on the far wall and had a satellite box already attached to it. The two bathrooms had dull green walls and plain décor. Someone had put up a few cheap paintings around the condo.

The master bedroom had a king sized bed and nightstands on each side. Tasteful lamps stood on both cabinets. Blaine found most of his clothes and belongings in the closet. Everything he'd possessed at Dalton was inside the sizable space. Alida cooked eggs on a skillet and dumped bread into the toaster. The doorbell rang as Blaine poured himself a glass of orange juice.

Kurt stood on the front porch, dressed to the nines in a stylish Marc Jacobs ensemble. Blaine eyed the knee high doc martens with envy (he could _never _pull those off) and hugged him.

"Aren't you supposed to be in school?" He laughed and pulled Kurt inside. "It's only nine-thirty."

"It's Thursday, I have a free period right now," he grinned and looked around the condo, "I can't _wait _to redecorate this place—all the pastel colors on the wall are just so _tacky._"

"I heard that!" Alida sniped from the kitchen. "I am so _sorry _my tastes don't agree with yours."

"Mrs. Lopez," Kurt stammered, "I had no idea you decorated. I think the pastels compliment the atmosphere nicely."

"Uh-uh," she rolled her eyes, "I hear you are back on the Cheerios with my daughter."

"Yes," Kurt recovered, "though I hear Coach Sylvester is recruiting new talent. Right Blaine?"

"Yeah," he agreed, "she flew all the way out to Arizona and demanded I demonstrate my talents for her before she would let me on the team."

Blaine had ended up doing a rather pathetic routine in the physical therapy room. Coach Sylvester had liked his vocal ability, but she said his coordination could use some work. Blaine was just grateful she allowed him to join. He suspected it had something to do with the rather large donation she had received from Melanie Anderson—former cheerleading captain. The pretty redhead had called him and asked if he really wanted to go to McKinley. Melanie promised to advocate for him. Blaine decided his father's newest wife was quite nice despite being busy; she managed to succeed with Kate's had agreed to send his send to Lima and enroll in public school.

"I'll show you my room," Blaine offered, "and you can help me unpack. When are you going back to school?"

"I'm free for another hour since we have a block schedule," Kurt explained, "I just couldn't wait another second to see you!"

They headed upstairs. Kurt hummed and hawed while he sorted through Blaine's messy suitcase. He watched the younger boy intently as he organized his dresser. When Kurt passed by the bed, Blaine grabbed his waist and pulled him down into a kiss.

"I missed you," he said as they fell onto the bed, "I'll show you how much."

"Blaine, I—" Kurt gasped as a hand unzipped his fly, "I'm. _Oh." _

Blaine kissed him deeply and slowly tugged his shirt out of his pants. Kurt squeaked and tensed when he started to move his hand downward again.

"What's wrong?" He kept his hands firmly on Kurt's waist.

"I-I don't think I can do this," Kurt admitted reluctantly, "Please stop."

The request stung. Blaine didn't understand _why _Kurt wanted to stop: they had done much more than making out and touching that night in the basement. He had been in too much pain during his stay in the hospital for any real sexual activity. Kurt seemed content with a few light kisses and holding hands. Maybe he should have tried doing more there. A hand job would have been easy.

"Are you afraid of me?" Blaine hated the idea. "I would _never _hurt you."

"I know that," Kurt sighed and turned away from him, "and no, I'm not afraid of you. It's just—I don't think I'm _ready _for this kind of intimacy. I know it's stupid. We've already had sex. I just want—I want _more._"

"Romance," Blaine let out a shaking breath, "I think we've covered some of that already. RENT, coffee, BreadStix."

"We weren't a couple," Kurt corrected acerbically, "you were dating Wes at the time."

A part of Blaine wanted to defend Wes; he'd been trying those last few weeks they were together. The nice gifts had really touched him. Wes had told him to have courage and talked him into flying to Chicago. No one else had offered him a hand or sympathized with a scared, bullied kid. Then he thought about all of the bruises that Wes had left on his skin after rough and sometimes painful sex. The first hit hadn't come until Kurt entered his life. Blaine had _hid _from Wes and did his best to avoid him.

"Okay," Blaine whispered, "we'll slow things down. I don't want to you to feel pressured or anything."

Kurt murmured an agreement and quickly changed the subject as he zipped his pants back up. Blaine offered him a false smile. At least the younger boy hadn't broken up with him: he didn't think he could handle that right now. It was bad enough that his own boyfriend didn't want him anymore. Wes had _always _wanted sex. _What's wrong with me? _

Transferring to West McKinley High proved uneventful. Blaine's first day went rather well. A few of the upperclassmen discovered he dated Kurt Hummel and hurled _fag _and _cocksucker _at him as he walked down the hallways, but nothing else happened. Dalton Academy had excellent academics. Principle Figgins whistled at his academic record, complimented him on attendance, and promptly placed his newest junior into advanced classes.

Blaine joined the seniors in some classes and stayed with advanced juniors in others. Kurt beamed when he walked into French IV and waved him over to a seat. A large jock—Azimio—mocked them and called them _fairies _under his breath. Kurt simply glared at the football player. Mme. Grier greeted him with a wide grin; she loved her French students.

Finn and Puck didn't share any classes with Blaine, but he had geometry with Artie. He had English with Tina Coen-Chang. The blue haired Goth glared at him and pointedly told him not to sit next to her.

"My mother will have a fit when she finds out we're in Glee Club together," Tina hissed, "she has yoga classes with Mrs. Kim."

"Oh," Blaine mumbled as he stood and switched seats, "sorry."

He sat beside a plump brunette girl with glasses instead. Lauren Zizes rolled her eyes at Tina's disinterest and asked what he had done to piss off every Asian student in a fifty mile radius. Mike Chang had refused to be his partner in Chemistry. Lauren had been there to see the blatant cold shoulder.

"Have you ever heard of Wesley Kim?" He asked her quietly and opened his textbook.

"No," Lauren snapped, "but I take it he's an Asian, right?"

"Yes," Blaine explained, "he's something of a legend in the Korean community. I slept with him."

"Awesome," the brunette deadpanned, "you totally pissed off every Tiger Mom."

"What's a Tiger Mom?"

Lauren turned out to be a confident, sassy girl that ate too much candy and wrestled. They became fast friends during English and even swapped phone numbers. Blaine went onto his other classes. The curriculum was nowhere near Dalton's standard. He had done far more advanced work at his old school and found his schedule quite dull.

The final school bell rang. Blaine stopped in the restroom before he headed towards Glee Club. The pain had been okay today, but he still needed to take some potent drugs to handle the physical exertion he faced in a public high school and daily activities. Cheerios practice started right after Glee. The painkillers had to last through the afternoon.

A blond haired boy stepped into the boy's bathroom as Blaine ran a comb through his unruly curls. The gel helped tame it. Wes was right: he _did _look better with it in. Kurt liked his wild curls. Blaine had slicked it back for so long that he felt downright juvenile without the stuff. _You look sexier with it in, Blaine; more confident. _Wes' smooth voice echoed in his mind.

"Blaine Anderson," the blond boy started, "I thought for sure you'd end up leaving Ohio after everything."

Blaine whirled around and nearly fell over at the unexpected greeting. Sam Evans leaned against the door. A slim white finger turned the lock. The former Dalton student looked so _different _now. He had lost weight and sport toned muscles. Blaine had forgotten how good looking the tall brunette was, even if he did have a bad dye job.

"Sam," Blaine ventured and backed up, "It's been a long time."

"Yeah," Sam glared as he stepped forward, "did you tell anyone about me?"

"No," his back hit the sink, "_no_. I didn't even know you were gay until Wes told me—and I wouldn't say anything. Not even to Kurt. I remember what your parents are like."

"Yeah, I'm sure you do," Sam sneered, "it's not _fair. _Kurt has everything! A dad that doesn't care his son is gay. Even _you _got a better hand than I did. Your dad might not be around, but at least he wouldn't kick you out. What do _I _get? Some close minded parents and a depressed boy—_exboyfriend_—that won't answer my calls anymore!"

Blaine flinched as Sam's voice climbed several levels and echoed off the bathroom walls. The blond leaned into his personal space and pushed him further into the sink.

"I didn't do anything to you, Sam," Blaine shouted, "or Scott. I heard that Scott moved away."

"He didn't move away," Sam remarked, "he got sent to a psychiatric hospital."

"I'm sorry," Blaine pleaded, "I'm sorry."

"So am I," Sam sighed and released him, "I'm sorry for letting Scott and Desmond talk me into this."

"I heard that Scott claimed responsibility for everything," Blaine rubbed his aching sides, "I also heard that Desmond took the fall for you."

"He insisted," Sam wiped tears out his eyes, "and Scott made me promise not turn myself in or he'd kill himself."

Blaine didn't respond and stood glued to the spot. Someone pounded on the door. Sam unlocked it and pushed it open. Puck stared at them from the hallway.

"I came to see if you guys were in here," the mohawked teen started, "why are you crying?"

"They're tears of laughter," Blaine lied, "we've really hit it off for just meeting each other."

"Oh," Puck watched as Sam left without a word, "right. You read my letter?"

"Yes," he welcomed the change in topic, "and I fully accept your apology. I know Kurt forgave you pretty easily-he said you were a complete gentleman on your so-called dates. I'm glad you're keeping Kurt safe."

"It's Lauren," Puck sighed adoringly, "I kind of lost some of my edge in this school, but she hasn't. No one messes with her because she's a total badass and everyone knows it. Then there's the wrestling team. They've got her back."

They walked down the hallway and entered the choir room. Mr. Schuester eagerly introduced Blaine Anderson to club. Kurt grinned from beside Mercedes. Rachel waved and smiled. Brittany gave him a new diaphragm while Santana filed her nails. Finn slapped him a high five. Mike and Tina said quiet hellos. They didn't seem quite so hostile anymore. Sam just grunted and pouted in silence. Lauren welcomed him unenthusiastically. Puck made an inappropriate comment about gay hobbits.

Mr. Schuester wrote a strong word on the board: _Hate. _The curly haired teacher discussed the anthem theme for Regionals and asked everyone to come up with a song they would like to sing on the topic. Blaine stared at Kurt in disbelief. The younger boy laughed and took his hand. Sam glared at them from his seat beside Quinn. Blaine thought he might sing Leonard Coen. Something from the _Love & Hate _album to express how much he hated Wesley Kim. Music was the best way to show emotion anyways. Maybe Mr. Schuester would let them do a love theme next week, and he could sing _I Honestly Love You _to Kurt.

A/N: I just wanted to add a quick note. My mother had an abusive boyfriend for six years. I sort of projected here. My older sister and I watched him ram a curtain rod into her head. I called the police (I was about 12 here) while her boyfriend sat on the couch and went back to watching television. Needless to say, we ended up at the ER. The worst thing about this incident? My mother went back to him for two more years. It wasn't until he hit my older sister in the head that she actually left him. Then she even still dated him for a while once she did leave him. One night I was home alone and he showed up drunk (yes, driving too). We lived out in the country and the neighbors were far away. I told him to leave because my mother wasn't there. I ended up calling my best friend and her parents came and picked me up at two o'clock in the morning. My mother finally stopped seeing him after that. Abuse is a subject close to home and I hope I did it justice here. The effects an abuser has on their victim never quite leaves you.


End file.
